Sunrise
by Buttons579
Summary: A valenwood elf goes on a mission to uncover the vampire conspiracy, and maybe finally find out just what exactly was going on with her. A vampire wakes up from a three thousand year old nap, and Stendarr preserve the world, she's mad. f!DB/Serana. Trigger warning.
1. Chapter 1

She knew she was dreaming on the very moment she opened her eyes. The changes in her vision were so distinct it was impossible to overlook them. She could, to an extent, see in the dark – all bosmer could, used as they were to the Green, where no fires could be lit even in the darkest nights. There was no mistaking that for what she had then – red blurs danced on the edge of her vision, trailing heat marks between the trees of the forest.

Embla knew she was dreaming, but she could not wake. She knew how it would play out – she'd had that dream hundreds of times before. And so she let herself move forward, not because she wanted to but because she knew struggling would be futile. She felt the flurry of bodies around her, far too many to be so eerily quiet. She would have closed her eyes if she could.

Next to her, two bodies collided, their heat signatures clashing and never pulling apart. She heard more than saw them melt into one, two lives fusing into a single unspeakable horror. The crunches of bone and slurping of flesh stitching itself together were the only things heard. And then the thing reached out to another being – which one of them had that been? – and another, until there were none left but her and that – the creature with too many eyes, too many mouths, too many fingers.

 _We have no shape other than the one Y'ffre bestowed on us_ , her mother used to say. _Respect the Green and respect the Pact, lest you lose it._

But she did have a shape. It was not her shape, not as she knew herself, but it was a shape, one she could not quite make out, even as she tried to look at her not-hands and not-feet. The Thing – and she knew what it was, even as she rejected it – turned to her and reached out, raw muscle and blood and veins visible, and it smiled, an open invitation to join it. She could _hear_ it – not its footsteps, but rather the tendons and blood vessels tying together in a slow agonizing process.

Embla took a step backwards, and another. She was the body missing in the ooze, she knew it, but something compelled her away from it, despite how its mouths sang songs of joy and pleasure and the sheer euphoria they felt in forging that ultimate connection. She saw it for the horror it was, although she could not see herself, and a creeping coldness in her heart wondered what horror _she_ was in turn - what horror could she be, enough to keep her from joining them.

She took a step backwards, and she walked away. The Wild Hunt paused for a split second, confused, and her mind was torn from her body, her sense of self blurring as she saw things through the creature's eyes – wonderful and bright and exciting, and how could she walk away from that, when she'd never have to be alone again? How could she walk away from the chance to be one with her tribe and one with everything else that crossed their path?

And then the moment was broken as something within her, something even more visceral, pulled her back to herself. There was a final wail from the Hunt, a sound that held no anger but a raw, sincere sadness. The thing morphed once more, taking the shape of wind itself, and then it flew away, leaving her behind. The emptiness she felt then was crippling – a disconnect from her people and from the forest itself, as if she had betrayed the Green and cast aside by it in return.

Embla fell to her knees, and then rolled down on the damp earth, finally able to control her body again. She closed her eyes and gradually recovered the feeling in her skin, enjoying the cool raindrops that fell on it as if each one of them was a blessing. There was a sound in the distance, and her eyes snapped open –

Masser and Secunda shone in the sky, their lights reflecting on the metal of a single, simple yet cruel axe.

It fell on her head and sliced her neck right through.

* * *

She sat up with a gasp, hands reaching to her throat, feeling the smooth, unscarred skin around her neck. Her pulse hammered under her fingers, her heart beating so hard it ached. She made a conscious effort to pause and take a deep breath, then another, until she was sure the trembling in her body came from the cold rather than from the panic.

She crawled out of the tent and into the snow. The Rift wasn't the coldest area of Skyrim by far, but at that time of the year, a thin layer of ice reached even the areas most to the south of the province. She reached out to it, holding it in her hand. There was no ice in Valenwood, not even in the highest peaks, and seeing it was always a reminder – both comforting and anguishing – of her distance to the Green.

Embla held the ice until it melted, not letting go even when her fingers burned. Once it was gone, she stared at the reddened skin, her fingertips blue with the cold, and that finally snapped her out of her trance and made her roll back inside the tent, cursing, casting a quick healing spell that brought warmth from her chest all the way to her toes.

She shifted through her stuff until she found a chunk of salted, dried meat, which she chewed on without much pleasure. She wasn't strictly adherent to the Pact, not since she'd enlisted in the Dominion, but habits died hard and she still held a preference towards meat-based products.

A lot of the Altmer – hell, most of them even – would not miss a chance to passive-aggressively pick on her people's habits, but they were all wise enough to not turn down any help they could get, supposedly inferior elves included, and so the bullying was kept to a minimum and she got the food she wanted more often than not.

She unrolled the parchment in her pocket and read it over again, focusing on the map on the back.

 _Lost someone to the vampire menace? Looking for a worthy cause to prove yourself to? Join the Dawnguard today!_

Embla had not, in fact, lost anyone to vampires – whomever she had to lose was long gone – nor did she feel the need to prove herself, but the Dominion had assigned her to the task of figuring out the uproar in the local vampire clan's politics, and so she would follow her orders like the good soldier she was. Except –

 _If everyone who knows you deserted is dead, then by all practical means you didn't desert at all._

A theory she had promptly put to test as soon as she had escaped the smoldering ruins of Helgen, leaving a massacre behind her. She presented herself to the Thalmor Embassy with her story – they had captured the Stormcloak leader in an ambushed planned by her truly, only to have his execution interrupted halfway by a beast no one had heard of in eras.

There was skepticism, of course, and she was held in a cell until Dominion agents could go back there and verify her story. Embla spent the good part of a week praying to the Twelve that they wouldn't find any evidence of the moment in her tale she had omitted – the one in which she changed her mind and tried to set the man free, the reason why her head too was in the chopping block that day.

They didn't, and when her story matched, right down to the details of the cave she used to escape, they set her free and had her promoted from _Pellan_ to _Adma'agea_ – from outsider to full-fledged spy, which was three ranks above justiciar and in reality one of the highest positions a bosmer could hold in the Dominion, since the core leadership roles were taken by altmer. And then, promotion or not, they had her off the dragon investigation and reassigned to this – local politics.

Embla didn't complain. As _Pellan,_ she had control of a small band of _khajiiti_ and _city-bosmeri,_ and while her current position granted her no underlings, her wage was higher and the job involved remarkably less bloodshed. Her work now consisted of schmoozing around, sneaking into places and picking pockets, often under the guise of a generous offer from the Dominion - a physician, free of charge. It was the perfect cover. And then the vampire situation came up, and now there she was, better off after committing a treason no one would ever know about – only herself and Ulfric Stormcloak, but there was no reason they'd take his word over hers, not with her spotless record.

She packed up her tent, rolling up the furs and squishing them into her backpack. She traveled light, confident in her ability to find most things she'd need at a moment's notice. Her survival skills took some adapting, granted, used as she was to the plentitude of the Green and of Valenwood in general, but she'd been in the Dominion for over two decades already and as such she'd had plenty of time to adapt to the most diverse situations.

The cold bit into her skin, just enough to be uncomfortable, just enough to keep her awake, and she broke into a quiet jog.

* * *

She followed the map to a passage, and just as she entered the valley and started on the road that would lead her to the fort, she was joined by a young blonde with long hair and a silly goatee whose name was Agmaer. Embla didn't mind the company; she wasn't particularly extroverted but her travels were lonely and it was nice to have someone there for a change, even if the boy did tend to talk a bit too much.

"So hey!" he spoke up after they had been walking together for a good hour or so. "I was wondering, you're an elf, right?"

"Right," she replied, considering whether she should point to her ears.

"You're a bit small for an elf, though," the boy babbled on. "Uh, no offense. It's just that the elves I've seen –"

"I'm bosmer," she interrupted. "Wood elf. You've probably seen altmer. High elves. They're the tall ones. Wood elves don't usually leave Valenwood, and city _bosmeri_ are almost always mixed."

"Oh," Agmaer's face lit up, and then his eyes widened. "Oh! Oh, wood elves. Um. Is it true that you, uh, um –"

Embla fought back a smirk. "Yes?"

"You know…"

She did know, but she innocently turned to him and tilted her head instead. "What is it?"

"Is-it-true-that-you-eat-people?" He said it all in a single breath, and then blushed. "I'm sorry, that was probably silly of me –"

"That's okay," Embla looked away to hide her grin. Of all the things other races found horrifying about them, this and the rite of thieving were always the things that spooked or angered them the most. "And yes. We do."

"Wh-oh." He took a step back. Embla rolled her eyes.

"We eat our dead, mostly. We used to eat our enemies as well, but nowadays only the most strict and traditional among us do that. It wasn't really well seen among the other mer."

"That's…" he seemed at loss of words, and she shrugged.

"Ritualistic. I wouldn't expect you to understand. You bury your dead, don't you?" It was a rhetoric question, and so she continued. "You bury your dead, we eat ours. Seems equally arbitrary to me, except by eating our dead and using their bones in our tools we make them part of ourselves and of our daily lives, and," she paused for emphasis, "They don't get their bodies defiled by necromancers or turn into draugrs or anything of the sort."

"Um…"

"I won't eat you," she snapped, growing annoyed when his face relaxed with visible relief.

She managed to count an entire ten seconds of blissful silence before the boy spoke again.

"Are you –"

"Sneaky, good with bows, sometimes we do grow antlers," she counted the items on her fingers as she recited them, "We live about as long as any other elf, run fast, talk to animals and grow our houses by singing to trees. Did I miss anything?"

He blinked. Embla shrugged. Valenwood elves didn't usually leave the Green, and city _bosmeri_ were so distinct they might as well be another species entirely, so she got those questions a lot. Never from other elves – they knew well enough to be aware it was rude – but she'd be damned if a human didn't bring up at least one stereotype every single time they came across her.

"Oh, I see, thank you!" he paused his walk abruptly, as if something had just crossed his mind, and his hand went immediately to an amulet hanging on his neck. "Um. Are you with the Thalmor?"

"Not really. I work for myself, mostly." She lied, or maybe didn't lie, she wasn't quite sure. "Keep your Talos worship, I don't really care. Don't see what all the fuss is over. _Bosmeri_ and _khajiiti_ have their own pantheons and the Dominion doesn't mind that."

That, at least, was a truth. She found the whole Talos persecution incredibly childish of the Thalmor, although it was clear how useful that ban was – under the guise of 'Talos worship', the Dominion had arrested dozens of otherwise crimeless conspirators, with no judgement and no rights to defend themselves. It was both barbaric and instrumental to keeping up their control of the remarkably frail Mede empire.

"Right! It's so unfair! My papa used to take me to this temple…"

She tuned him off, occasionally grunting a word or two in acknowledgment and taking mental notes of names and places that might come in handy if Elenwen ever pressed her to catch an agitator. She could see their destination in the distance – a castle large and sturdy enough that it could probably house a couple hundred people and hold out against most siege engines.

The valley itself was a beauty. Despite the cold and the snow, tufts of grass peeked their way out, and she could only imagine how exuberant it got when spring came and the weather got warmer. She instinctively closed her eyes when she spotted a waterfall and savored the input from her other senses: the cold droplets of water on her skin, the crunching of the earth beneath her boots, the hissing of the water as it hit the ground, the smell of damp earth.

They stopped at the door, or rather Agmaer stopped her at the door – she was more than ready to kick it in and huddle by a fire, nature-lover or not. She arched an eyebrow at him, trying to not let her annoyance show too much. The kid grew on her, really. They'd been walking for almost half a day and she'd grown used to his chatter as part of the background, a bit like the chirping of the birds.

"So! I bet you've killed lots of vampires, right?" he babbled.

Embla blinked and took a pause to think about it. "A dozen or so?"

Usually, vampire population was controlled by the dominant clan in the territory; it was a mutually beneficial, unspoken deal that kept the vampires fed and unbothered and the feral attacks to a minimum. Despite that, vampirism spread quickly as a disease, and so it was unavoidable that occasionally small covens of a couple feral vampires and their thralls would form.

When that happened, it was up to the authorities to deal with them, and in Dominion lands, authority happened to be the Thalmor, of which she was a part of.

"Oh, wow! I mean…" Agmaer's eyes were wide. "I haven't really killed anyone, ever," he whispered. "But I'm ready to be a warrior, Talos knows I am! I got my pa's axe and I've trained, I've trained a lot! I've fended off wolves and spiders and when the Dawnguard passed on Shor's Stone, I knew it was my time!"

 _Alatae Auri-el, grant me patience._

"I'm sure you'll be fine."

"You think so? We haven't known each other for long, but you look pretty mean – no offense – and I bet you're good with a bow and I – I –" He gestured vaguely with his hands. "I'm really unprepared, aren't I? I mean, who am I kidding, a farm boy with a woodcutter's ax? I bet they have all kinds of barbarians joining up left and right. Not that you're a barbarian –"

"Kid –"

"- I mean the whole eating people thing is a bit weird but it's like you said, it's your culture, right? And if you don't mind Talos then I shouldn't mind it as long as you don't eat me –"

"Kid!"

He blinked. "I'm sorry. I'm babbling, aren't I?"

Embla took a deep breath, then sighed. "Look, kid, just… take a deep breath, will you? You're exhaling nervousness. Yeah? Good. Count to ten."

"Onetwothreefourfivesix-"

She lifted both her open palms, halting him again.

"Listen…" she trailed off, racking her memory for bits of conversation she had half paid attention to. "You said your father was a big warrior and you wanted to make him proud, isn't that true? And…and all your sisters have already left home to take one job or the other and you're the only one left."

"Yeah!" The boy's eyes glinted.

"That must be a lot of pressure." She continued.

"Oh, yeah! You have no idea. My eldest sis, she's so talented –"

"Point is," she interrupted. "You said it yourself. This is your time, isn't it? So maybe… comparing yourself to them and all…isn't helping. Even your dad had to start somewhere, and… they'll train you... probably. Don't worry. You're willing to learn, aren't you?"

"Yes! Yes, I am!"

"Then, see? That should be enough. You just have to be calm and have confidence in what you know... but also awareness of what you don't. All the rest will come with hard work. No one is born ready, kid."

"Yeah! You're right! My time to learn, my time to shine!" He frowned. "Don't call me kid though. You can't be that much older than me."

"I'm sixty-three," she deadpanned.

He blinked. "Oh, okay."

She reached for the door, eager to cut the conversation short, and then hesitated for a split second and looked back at him. "Ready?"

"Yeah. Yeah, let's do this."

* * *

On the very moment they stepped through the door, they were blinded by a light coming from above. Embla did her best to protect her eyes with her arms, and next to her, someone cursed as Agmaer stumbled, tripped and leaned against them for balance.

"Do you _really_ have to do this every single time?!" the woman muttered under her breath, then looked up to a dark skinned man who used concave mirrors to concentrate the full might of the midday sun on their faces. The heat was so intense, even that brief exposure was enough to make her sweat.

"No vampires here, Isran, for the love of Stendarr, point that thing away!"

 _Oh._

She took some measure of relief from knowing she wasn't undead – or that brand of undead in particular, at least.

"Can never be too careful," a deep voice replied.

The light was finally put off, and with that out of the way, she was able to make out the features of the woman ahead of her. She was, much like herself, a wood elf, though she was taller, and her skin was closer to the Altmeri gray-green than to her own light tan.

 _City elf,_ she thought, then took a step forward to greet her. She took the chance to take a good look at the large circular room ahead of her.

"Name's Beleval. Don't mind Isran, he can be paranoid, but his heart is on the right place. We've been expecting you – our scouts saw you coming hours ago."

"Embla," she offered. She figured they'd been seen. The castle towers weren't too high, but it sat on top of a valley so they didn't have to be, unless they were planning to fend off attacks from flying enemies – things like the Dominion's hot-air balloon prototypes, which she'd glimpsed a few times during their test flights in Alinor.

 _Or dragons. Place wouldn't stand a chance against a dragon._

She couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of structure they'd need to resist a dragon, and she shoved the thought out of her mind – she'd been reassigned from that investigation anyway, so it was someone else's problem.

"Not a lot of our kind here, yeah? You don't look like city folk. Got that weird wild look to you, you know?" She paused, then added, "And the teeth. Got the teeth. Valenwoodian, I'd guess?"

Embla grinned, making a point to let said teeth show. It was a habit, back in the Green, for the _bosmeri_ to file their teeth to sharp points. It was helpful in their carnivore habits, and every twenty years or so their teeth would fall off and be replaced by an entirely new set. Embla hadn't filed her newest incisors and molars – most races were too weirded out by an elf with thirty-two pointy teeth and she had a military career to think of. She kept her canines sharp regardless.

"Correct," she acquiesced.

"Suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Dominion's been all over Tamriel, been seeing elves everywhere lately." Beleval gave her a long, full body stare, from the tip of her ears to her toes. "Still, those of us here have as much of an obligation to protect Skyrim as any other, regardless of where we hail from, wouldn't you agree?"

The question was a test, and Embla took a moment to think about how she would reply. "I think," she said, articulating her words with care. "Most things the ones in power have us kill each other for are just disagreements not worth shedding blood over. I also think life is a thing to be protected. That's why I'm here."

The answer seemed to satisfy her, and she nodded. Embla and Agmaer waited back near the door. Soon she heard footsteps, and they were joined by the man who had all but fried them. His thick brows gave him a heavy, intimidating gaze. To her side, Agmaer cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. They were called forward. By then the young Nord was visibly shaking. Embla gave him a reassuring pat on the back as they made their way to the Dawnguard's leader.

"…They seem decent folk if you ask me," Beleval said. "You cooked their brains and neither one shot you yet. Valenwood bosmer are superb archers, mind you."

"What is it about wood elves and bows?" Isran grunted.

Embla shrugged. "We catch our food fresh every day, so we just grow learning to use them like you grow learning how to use a fork."

He scoffed. "Well I'm not complaining. Got any training asides from that?"

"I started off in the army as field medic," she reported.

"The Thalmor army, you mean?"

 _No, the fucking Stormcloaks,_ she thought but didn't say. "Yes, the Thalmor. I studied in Alinor for nearly a decade and then got sent to the Hammerfell frontlines." She paused. If he had any opinions on her being involved on the attack on his people's province, or if he had any bond to Hammerfell at all, he didn't say it. "Been serving on and off since then. I never had the stomach to really commit to army life, so I sign up for a mission or two whenever I need the money and that's about it. Currently unaffiliated."

She lied easily not only because she had practice, but also because it was the life she wished she had. In reality, once one's name was bound to the Thalmor, it was hard if not impossible to completely cut ties with it. Even if she did manage to retire, her compliance and her loyalty would still be expected.

"Not in the position to be passing down anyone, as long as you don't make trouble with the Talos worshippers" Isran muttered.

"I have better things to spend my time and energy on," she replied, trying and failing to keep the bite off her tone.

"Teach that to your Thalmor buddies," he grunted, then turned to Agmaer. "What about you, boy?"

"I – I have no training, sir, but I am willing to learn." Embla smirked at that. "I'm going to be a warrior, sir! Like my pa and my grampa before him, I got his axe –"

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen next spring, sir!"

Isran deemed the answer satisfactory with a nod, then walked to some barrels on the edge of the room and picked up a crossbow and a bag of bolts. Then he tossed the equipment to the boy, whose reflexes were barely quick enough to catch them.

"My pa's axe, Stendarr preserve us," Isran repeated, then scoffed. "Here, take this crossbow and let's see how you shoot.""

"Yes, sir!"

"Do I look like a 'sir' to you, boy? I'm not a soldier, and you're not joining the army." He gave her a pointed look. "Watch the recoil. Takes some getting used to. We'll make a Dawnguard out of you yet, kid. And out of you too…" The redguard shook his head "…thalmor. The things I have to deal with…"


	2. Chapter 2

Loredas, 3rd of Morning Star, 4E 207

Reporting from Riften.

As planned, I have successfully infiltrated the ranks of the Dawnguard. I have been set on a one-year probation and training period, together with two recruits – attached profiles.

For now, my schedule consists of mostly menial maintenance tasks during the morning period, followed by basic combat training in the afternoon. Recruits are being trained in unarmed combat, swordplay and marksmanship with both bows and crossbows. Crossbow technology is similar yet more rudimentary than that used in Alinor.

Will report any new findings or monthly updates otherwise.

Adma'agea E.

 **PROFILE: AGMAER HJALLSON**

Race: Nord. Age: 19. Affiliations: Dawnguard. Level of threat: very low.

Talos worship: possible. Irrelevant to the task at hand. Further investigation is counter-indicated.

Observations: formerly a farmer. No previous combat training.

 **PROFILE: HAKAR – FAMILY NAME UNKNOWN.**

Race: Nord. Age: 23. Afilliations: Dawnguard. Level of threat: very low.

Talos worship: unlikely. Has shown himself unreligious.

Observations: weak of will. Might fail probation altogether.

* * *

Tirdas, 3rd of Sun's Dawn, 4E 207

Routine remains unchanged. Unremarkable month. Isran maintains attempts at further expanding the guild, but his obsessive and hostile temper turns people away. Durak - orisimer, profile attached on initial report – remains at work on manufacturing crossbows and bolts.

I have gained partial access to the local library. Most texts are focused entirely on vampire physiology, history and combat tactics. Texts are in accord to similar themed books found on the libraries of Alinor's college.

Will report any new findings or monthly updates otherwise.

Adma'agea E.

* * *

Tirdas, 3rd of First Seed, 4E 207

As requested, a short summary on vampirism. Bear in mind all this data is in accord to that found in pathology-themed books in Alinor.

Key points:

\- Vampirism, as a disease, comes in over a hundred different strains. As opposed to most diseases, created by Peryite, vampirism derives from Molag Bal, explaining much of its notable volatility.

\- Those who acquire the condition directly from Molag Bal receive the strain Noxiphilic sanguivoria and are referred to as "Children of Coldharbour". Said pure-blooded vampires hold much if not all of vampire society's power.

\- Children of Coldharbour are not harmed by sunlight but instead gain magical skills at night. Consensus is that while each cohort reacts distinctly to the disease, leading to the formation of clans with unique abilities, all are capable of some manner of shapeshifting.

\- Noxiphilic sanguivoria can only be transmitted in ritualistic manner. The nature of this ritual remains obscure, but it is believed it resembles the rituals for acquiring the pure strain of the disease – see related texts for further details. Vampires spawned from such rituals are referred to as "half-bloods".

\- Half-bloods are easily distinguished by the vertical slit that runs through their lips, and lack complete resistance to sunlight, though they receive their bloodparent's magical traits and shapeshifting. Half-bloods are unable to transmit Noxiphilic sanguivoria, and their bites will instead transmit a weaker strain of the disease. This affects power dynamics and is the reason half-bloods rarely desert to build their own clans.

\- What disease half-bloods transmit vary, having Porphiric hemophilia and Sanguinare vampiris as the most common strains. Prevalence seems to be affected by weather, with the latter most commonly seen in cold climates.

\- Other daedric princes may also intervene in the disease course. Cyrodiilic vampires claim to have received part of their traits from Clavicus Vile. Some speculate that resistance to sunlight observed in rare non-Noxiphilic strains may be a gift from Hircine. This theory is deemed highly unlikely, bearing in mind the interactions between vampirism and the Sanies group of diseases.

Please refer to academic texts for further education. Dawnguard routine remains uneventful.

Will report any new findings or monthly updates otherwise.

Adma'agea E.

* * *

Fredas, 3rd of Rain's Hand, 4E 207

Dawnguard routine remains uneventful.

Will report any new findings or monthly updates otherwise.

Adma'agea E.

* * *

Morndas, 4th of Second Seed, 4E 207

Dawnguard routine remains uneventful.

Attached a list of local herbs I have found to be of medicinal use. Cross-reference with academic texts in Alinor for further research.

Will report any new findings or monthly updates otherwise.

Adma'agea E.

 **Frost Mirriam** – green leaf of irregular shape. Sample attached. Apparent uses in the treatment of hypothermia.

 **Dragon's Tongue** – yellow flower which grows in the tundra. Local texts report uses of the plant's leaves in the treatment of burns.

 **Blue Mountain Flower** – blue flowers found in the warmer valleys. Sample attached. Has applications in fighting infections, particularly those acquired after animal bites.

 **Yellow Mountain Flower** \- found in the rift, near bodies of water. Used by the locals as antidote to certain venomous animals, frostbite spiders in particular.

* * *

Middas, 3rd of Midyear, 4E 207

A recruit by the name of Lynoit (nord, male, 20, average likelihood of Talos worship) presented himself on the 24th of Second Seed. Currently being separately trained. I have finished reading through all the texts available to me; the remaining documents can only be accessed as a full member of the order.

It is expected, after a year of training, that recruits take on a symbolic, unaccompanied field mission. Success is not required, and the mission's sole goal should be survival. Upon return, a graduating ceremony takes place, and the new members receive their sun crests and permanent positions within the Dawnguard.

When that happens, I shall have full access to the information needed to further our goals.

Will report any new findings or monthly updates otherwise.

Adma'agea E.

* * *

Fredas, 3rd of Sun's Height, 4E 207

Currently over halfway my training period. Should be done by the middle of Evening Star, likely before Saturalia. Agmaer had an accident with a battle-axe during training a week ago. Due to the lack of other trained physicians, access to first aid material was granted to me. The current medical tools are rudimentary, and I have taken upon myself to better equip and improve their laboratory.

Doing so is essential both for my cover role as physician and so I can continue my studies regarding the specificities of Skyrim vampirism.

Dawnguard routine is otherwise uneventful.

Will report any new findings or monthly updates otherwise.

Adma'agea E.

* * *

Morndas, 3rd of Last Seed, 4E 207

Laboratory improvements going smoothly. Isran has granted me a considerable amount of gold to spend on medical equipment, which I have acquired from Riften. I have also been released from marksmanship training on Fredas so I can use that time for research, under the guise of looking for a cure for vampirism.

Though this should not turn into a primary objective, the data collected can prove useful regardless.

Dawnguard routine is otherwise uneventful.

Will report any new findings or monthly updates otherwise.

Adma'agea E.

* * *

Morndas, 7th of Heartfire, 4E 207

As requested, updates on research currently in progress.

 **Botany:** currently growing, classifying and analyzing samples of various fungal growths found in caves and forests of Skyrim. Specimens currently held: Bleeding Crow, Blisterwort, Fly Amanita, Giant Lichen.

 **Vampirism:** current research consists mostly of historical reviews. Cures from vampirism have been reported in various places of Tamriel. A single report in Morrowind points towards a cure being acquired with Daedric Prince Vaermina.

Various texts agree that killing the bloodparent of a clan may result in cure for those turned by them. These claims however have gone unproved and deemed fictious after a series of experiments and case reports performed in Alinor.

A possible cure has been described through a concoction of "six cloves of garlic, two shoots of bloodgrass, five leaves of nightshade, the blood of an Argonian, and the ashes of a powerful vampire." How to prepare such potion and any other specificities regarding its use are not described and any attempts to use this formula would be risky and require experimentation.

It is well known that acquisition of any diseases from the Sanies genus will completely purge a patient of vampirism. This method is notrecommended and comes with its own issues.

Lastly, the most reliable accounts of curing vampirism involve equivalent exchange with Molag Bal himself. A ritual should be performed, wherein a black gem filled with a sentient soul is offered in exchange for the vampire's soul. More details on this ritual can be found in academic texts regarding it.

Dawnguard routine remains uneventful.

Will report any new findings or monthly updates otherwise.

Adma'agea E.

* * *

Loredas, 3rd of Frostfall, 4E 207

Attached are findings regarding the fungus currently cultivated.

A couple new recruits named Saliah (redguard, female, 24) and Vanik (nord, male, 27, average likelihood of Talos worship) have enlisted for the Dawnguard and are currently being trained together with Lynoit. Senior members of the guard have been called to Morthal for an investigation. At the time of this letter, Fort Dawnguard is inhabited solely by the recruits and Mogrul.

Might attempt to breach library restraints and acquire further information, if I am certain such attempts won't jeopardize my current position.

Will report any new findings or monthly updates otherwise.

Adma'agea E.

 **Bleeding Crow:** Slow growth fungus. Not enough material for analysis.

 **Blisterwort:** Significantly increases aggression when ingested by mice. Handle with care.

 **Fly Amanita:** Stem extract appears to have soothing effects on burns. Possibility of synergic effects with Dragon's Tongue. Cap has similar effects to Blisterwort in aggression increase.

 **Giant Lichen:** Extremely poisonous. Should be handled with care. Experiments terminated after death of several test mice. Samples should be sent to Alinor for analysis of possible magicka-active effects.

* * *

Tirdas, 3rd of Sun's Dusk, 4E 207

The party sent to Morthal has returned after a successful mission. Details have been omitted from me but vampire activity in the settlement has apparently no relation to the vampire attacks happening over Skyrim. Two new recruits have joined the ranks: Hroggar and Brenor (nords, males, both from Morthal). In the meantime, I have successfully read through a couple of restricted access books. My findings are as following:

\- The dominant vampires in Skyrim are the Volkihar clan, which dates back to the Merethic era and may very well be the oldest clan in Tamriel. They are known for being paranoid and cruel.

\- The clan was once a family which attained immortality after the sacrifice of a thousand souls.

\- The Volkihar consisted of Harkon, Valerica and their sole daughter Serana. The two women went missing circa 2E 350 and the clan has been considerably weaker since. There are no known conflicts with The Order (Cyrodiil), the Whet-Fang (Black Marsh), The Nine (Iliac Bay), the tribes in Valenwood (multiple clans with no apparent ordered system) or the three dominant tribes in Morrowind.

 **Harkon Volkihar** is the one about which most is known. Of paranoid and controlling temper, it is said he rules his brood with an iron fist and any attempts to desert the clan are met with severe retaliation. Worthy of note is the fact that while powerful, Harkon hasn't shown himself prolific, and no news of Half-bloods turned by him have been heard for centuries.

 **Valerica Volkihar** is the matriarch of the clan and wife of Harkon. Not much is known about her other than her temper was generally apathetic, and she mostly occupied her time with alchemy. Some of her discoveries were indeed groundbreaking and are the basis of current medical science. Valerica hardly involved herself with vampire power disputes and politics, leaving most of that to her daughter Serana.

 **Serana Volkihar** is a name widely known among vampire society. If the Volkihar are 'paranoid and cruel', then cruelty derives from Serana. Before her disappearance, she was the clan member responsible for the creation of most half-bloods. Those turned by her however had a life expectancy no longer than a mortal's, quick to die by her hand. Serana's volatile temper and viciousness caused uproar in an otherwise monotonous political scheme.

This report concludes the end of my monthly updates. As of the 1st of Evening Star, I shall receive my final trial in the shape of a test mission, after which I will be a full member of the order. Reports will likely be scarcer due to the unknown nature and length of such field work.

Contact will be reestablished as soon as possible, either through mail or through directly presenting to the Thalmor Embassy in Haafingar.

Adma'agea E.

* * *

Embla should have known something would go amiss when they first set foot off the Fort. They left at dawn, thought he only way they could know it was by guessing, because the horizon was completely covered by dark clouds. It was more than enough to sour her mood, since they would be riding north towards The Pale through the peak of Skyrim winter, and all her raised-in-the-jungle self did not need was bad weather.

Yet bad weather was what they got, and she spent the whole ride cold and uncomfortable, and her lightly built body was not made to wear so many layers of heavy, uncomfortable clothes. She was, to put it short, miserable. Another surge of bad luck took them on the third day of travel, when one of the horses slipped on ice and broke a leg. They had to sacrifice the animal and divide its load between the other two, which would set them back at least two days.

And then there was the fact that their group was hardly the most cohesive one. The air between them seemed to grow heavier with every step. Hakar was not willing to listen to Agmaer's small talk, and the constant snapping slowly undermined the young nord's morale.

Embla lacked the patience or the cultural competence to break the two apart and make their team work smoothly. She dealt well with other mer and even khajiiti, but mankind was a mystery and Nords were just a distillation of everything she did not understand about it. She knew enough to infer the two were scared - Agmaer was still completely green in the battlefield and Hakar was a plain coward. She'd learned at some point his enlisting had been a forced choice between community service and jailtime, which explained much of his reluctance.

None of it did any good to soothe her worries, and she began to worry about their survival. They didn't have a plan, they didn't have one another's backs and after nine days, when they finally reached the mining settlement, they learned they wouldn't have the support from Vigilant Tolan either.

"The fuck do you mean, he left a couple hours ago?" Hakar slammed his fist on the bar table. Embla pinched the bridge of her nose and counted back from ten.

The miner they'd been talking to didn't take kindly to the insults. "I meant what I said. You daft? Your guy is fucking gone!"

"I'm sick of this," the other answered. "Fucking sick of this. This fucking mission was doomed from the start. Vampires took down the entire Vigilant Hall and they expect us to deal with this? I rather go arrested again than serve this death sentence."

His outburst was punctuated by his slamming the door shut behind them as he left. Embla thanked Y'ffre for that blessing, then turned to the miner.

"I'm – I'm sorry for my companion's behavior," Agmaer stuttered. "Forgive us, please. It has been a rough week."

"What fuckin' ever," the miner slurred, sipping a mug of mead.

Embla chose that moment to intervene. "If you have any information that could be of help, maybe the direction Vigilant Tolan was headed…"

"Don't know, don't care."

She took a deep breath, accepted that any further attempts at communication would be fruitless and stepped away from the patron's table and back to Agmaer at the entrance. They exited the inn together, only to find one horse and half their equipment missing. That, too, could be just what she needed to maybe get out of this entire mess alive.

"Glan'nt. Well," she began, calling her partner's attention. "Agmaer...I'll need you to grab the horse and go after Hakar. See if you can find Tolan on the way. He's probably headed to Dawnstar, not many places to go around here."

She worked better alone than in bad company, and while she didn't usually mind Agmaer and even found his shyness a bit endearing, she had a feeling that whatever Isran had gotten them into would not be a situation where she could afford to look after him and herself. It was for the best, really. She could even say she cared about him enough to want to see him in one piece.

"What? Why me?" the other protested. "What about you?"

"If Hakar wants to ditch, that's his business, but we need that horse and equipment, and you'll be faster if you go alone," she reasoned. "I'll go on ahead to Dimhollow…. pick up Tolan's trail, maybe. You know I'm better at tracking and I can slip by unnoticed and shoot anything from a distance."

"I don't know," Agmaer hesitated.

I should try flattery. She clicked her tongue and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's the best we can do. You're a great warrior, Agmaer, I mean that, and that's why I need you to go one-on-one with the thief. It just makes more sense that I do the sneaking around, yeah?"

Agmaer ran his hand through his long blonde locks and sighed. "You make a strong case. All right, I'll go get that son of a bitch. He was right about the danger though, yeah? They did wipe out the Vigilants. Be careful."

She answered with an encouraging thumbs up. "Hopefully you'll be quick enough that we go in together. I'll meet you there."

* * *

As planned, Agmaer wasn't quick enough.

She held her clothes close to her body but they did little to warm her up. The wind was howling and carrying with it heavy snowfall, and because of it, she almost didn't notice the stone protruding from the ice, forming the crude steps which led to Dimhollow. She would have missed them entirely if not for the bright red blood spattered over the gray sludge.

Embla involuntarily grimaced at the metallic scent that assaulted her nose when she approached. She found the source of the trail a little bit further up on the mountain, where a severed head laid on a spike, its tongue hanging off, glassy eyes still open. The spike had been driven deep enough that it perforated the skull, scattered bits of brain and bone still resting over the hair.

Well there's our Vigilant.

She remembered the face – she'd briefly seen him on the halls with Isran a week or two before. Embla sighed, then moved closer to inspect it properly. She couldn't tell if the cause of death had been the fracture on the vertebra or the severing of the throat arteries. The body was nowhere to be found, but with how much he had bled, she figured the latter seemed possible.

She touched the pale skin. Frost had already deposited over the hair and face. She applied pressure with her fingers, slowly tracing them over the jaw, cheekbone and whatever was left of the neck. She tapped the cheek, then the temple, then carefully forced the mouth fully open.

Rigor mortis has settled in on the small face and neck muscles, but not on the large jaw ones.

She gritted her teeth and removed her left glove, which immediately grew stiff with the cold. Embla stuck two fingers inside the head's mouth and down its throat as deep as she could, then pulled them out with a squelch and wiped them on her pants. The blood on her hands was warm to the touch.

There are no flies, but that is to be expected in this miserable weather. Insides still not at ambient temperature. Estimated time of death: between two and five hours ago.

She shoved her hand in her pocket to warm it up, and then slid it back into the glove and turned her attention back to the corpse. Embla pulled the eyelids down, revealing a reddish brown line across the whites of the eyeballs.

Tache noir of the sclera means he died with his eyes open.

She pulled out a hunting knife from her belt and carefully held the eyelids open with one hand while using the other to sneak the blade between bone and soft tissue and use it as a lever to make the eye pop off the socket. When it did, still hanging from the optic nerve, she sliced it free and deposited it inside a small leather satchel. Later, with a lab and some magicka, there were spells she or the Thalmor could use to relieve the last few minutes that eye had witnessed.

Embla hesitated then, when she decided she was done with the body. She felt like she should offer some shape of dignity to the man, but she wasn't sure which. Bosmeri traditions did not apply to literally any other race, and while Tolan looked like a nord and she knew very well what a Nord's preferred deity was, she had neither the knowledge nor the desire to offer him a prayer to Talos.

I'll go with Auri-el, she decided after a bit of thought. Auri-el seems multicultural enough.

She whispered a quick Altmer hymn and gently pushed his eyelids down and covered his head with her cape. Satisfied, she moved on to the mouth of the cave, tensing with every step. She was acutely aware of how vulnerable she was right then – if there were any guards, the wind was loud enough to cover their noises, and they would see her coming from above.

But there weren't any. That was strange. Tolan had been dead for long enough that whichever vampire had killed him was bound to be long done with his meal and back at his post, and the lit brazier at the cave's mouth told her that someone was bound to be in there. Touching her hand to the wall to guide her, she stepped into the cave.

Embla had a thing for self-descriptive names – a love-hate relationship. Love, because she liked to know exactly where she was going. Hate, because more often than not the places with such names were places she would rather not step foot into. That was the case with Dimhollow Crypt. It was dim. It was hollow. It was a crypt. She loathed it instantly.

No, that wasn't quite right – dim didn't really cover it. The insides of the cavern were impenetrably dark, and if the entrance wasn't so narrow she would have had trouble finding her way in. She figured even a Khajiit – heck, even a vampire – would have trouble seeing down there, and her poor bosmer eyes didn't stand a chance. She needed a magelight or better yet a torch, which had the bonus effect of keeping her warm, but she couldn't have that because she was sneaking.

I hate this cold, miserable place.

Since she had been sent to a place with dim in the name, Embla had enough foresight to prepare herself a shot of Night Eye, which she would really like to avoid, solely because Night Eye was an awful potion. The taste was disgusting, it made her feel like someone drove nails through her eyes, everything went the wrong colors, the effects only lasted for twenty minutes, and it left her with a migraine as a parting gift. Most importantly however was that it was made for Altmeri to better see under Masser and Secunda, and not for Bosmeri to magically see without any source of light.

Today is a terrible day.

She decided to push on a little further without it, in the hopes that she would find a source of light. She did her best not to wet her boots but it was no use; more than once she was forced to cross large puddles and creeks, and though she constantly stopped to cast minor healing spells that warmed her up, it truly worried her that her toes would freeze off.

Dear Nocturnal, she rambled in her head. Please, have mercy. If I come out this wretched place whole I promise to bring to your altar – a pause – does Nocturnal even have altars. What sort of offering should one bring to Nocturnal anyway. I've never seen a priest of Noc –

Embla tripped on a stone and barely caught herself from crashing face first into the ground. She mentally cursed and gave herself a moment to catch her breath. Embla resumed her movement twice as careful and half as fast, feet practically dragging on the ground which seemed to grow gradually more slippery. She stepped ahead but met empty space and lost her balance again. This time, when her feet hit the ground, a spike of pain shot up from her ankle.

"Okay," She whispered, so low she could barely hear it herself. "Okay." She took a deep breath. Getting a daedra's attention, let alone that of a Prince, was downright impossible. It was ludicrous to think her merely talking to one would make them notice her existence. And yet. Nocturnal was notably whimsical, and she had nothing to lose by trying.

Fuck it, she thought, because right then she needed an actual miracle. "Nocturnal," she murmured. "Please. Help me out here. If you do I promise you I'll – I'll – " she thought for a second. "Wait, I know. If you do, I promise I'll invoke the Rite of Theft again." Silence. Nothing. "I'll invoke it… under your command?"

Something changed then – something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Perhaps it just the wind, or the water dripping from the walls, or even the sound of a distant, deep cave waterfall. Something. A chill crawled over her spine, settling as a cold grip on her chest.

Oh, she thought. Oh, I'm in trouble.

Embla took a step forward, then another, and let the darkness swallow her.


	3. Chapter 3

Embla eventually found out where all the vampires had gone.

As she delved deeper and deeper into the ground, she began to find vestiges of battle. Here, mutilated remains of draugrs thrown left and right. There a giant frostbite spider and its daughters, insides spilled over the ground, still fresh and steaming against the ice. The stench of decaying flesh grew almost unbearable the further she proceeded into older chambers of the crypt. More than once she considered turning back, but the idea that she might have to re-do the entire trajectory with a loud, not quite so sneaky Agmaer on her tail kept her going.

She reached a balcony decorated by oppressive gargoyles and quickly ducked behind a pillar when she heard voices coming from below. She laid belly down on the cold stone floor and pulled her dark hood over her head, then crawled close to the rails and poked her head between them to peek.

She could count at least six vampires, their features distorted so their cheekbones were high and their noses were curved and batlike. She immediately registered the vertical line that split their lips and marked their specific brand of vampirism. Embla grit her teeth in frustration. An average vampire was tough to kill enough – they did not actively bleed to death unless wounded in a major vessel, so one had to run them through their hearts or behead them, otherwise all they'd get was a livid, dismembered creature lunging at them. She figured it was the same for half-bloods, but harder.

They were deformed enough that she couldn't tell much about what they were before they turned, save for one – an orsimer with a war hammer about his size strapped to his back. The one in charge, a white-haired man, barked an unintelligible order and another two came from the side, dragging a screaming person with them. Embla did not realize fast enough what would happen next, and as such she could not avert her eyes: the vampires forced down the prisoner's head on a button, from which a spike erupted and ran the man through.

The screams died down with a gurgle, drowned by the sound of laughter. She felt sick to her stomach in a way she hadn't felt in a long time.

 _I hate field missions_ , she thought, holding her breath and counting to ten. The white-haired vampire – Lokil, she managed to catch his name – stepped back and watched. Embla wasn't sure at first what they were looking for, until she saw the dead Vigilant's blood run down the pillar and slowly ignite into blue flame, setting braziers alight.

"…very careful when she wakes. You know how she is. We'll have to contain her as fast as we can… move that pillar over there, yes, like that."

 _It's a puzzle,_ she realized when the Orsimer started pushing the braziers around. Lokil barked out more instructions she didn't catch, and she rose to a crouching position and ever so slowly made her way down to understand it. She stopped about halfway down the staircase, freezing in place when the sound of stone dragging on stone came to an abrupt pause. She found a nook in the stone wall to hide in and waited.

Looking down, Embla saw all the braziers were lit and the purple fog rose from the floor up to their knees. Then the ground shook, and the stake in which the impaled man rested slowly crawled up and up, revealing a stone monolith.

"This is it, form a circle!" Lokil commanded. "Here she comes, no matter what happens, stay alert and don't –"

The stone groaned when the tip of the spike touched the roof, yet the pillar kept rising, until the sharp end broke and the limp body was pushed up. Lokil took two steps back to avoid the shower of dismembered body parts that came down when the corpse was crushed against the ceiling, and Embla gritted her teeth at the sickening sound of bones breaking apart.

And then the ground stopped trembling, and a single high-pitched sound of metal against metal sounded when the obelisk slowly slid open, revealing the shape of a woman.

 _Y'ffre preserve us all._

Embla was not ready for it – for how inhumanly beautiful she would look. She knew, in theory, all the effects a Child of Coldharbour could have on the minds of men and mer, and yet none of it prepared her for this. The woman's face was mesmerizing – the sharp angles, the black locks of hair just long enough to reach her shoulder, part of it pulled back in a braid that crowned her head. She stared at long lashes and unblemished skin, noticed how her right ear was pierced by three decorative spikes, and how a single drop of blood rolled down her chin –

 _Snap out of it!_

To Embla's credit, she tried. She really, _really_ did. Her heart hammered hard enough on her chest that she felt certain the vampires below would hear her, even though she knew that was impossible. She forced herself to look away, her mind fuzzy. She took out one of her gloves and bit into her hand, knowing the pain would help make her thoughts clearer. When she thought she had some shape of control, she forced herself to look back, focusing not on her but on the other vampires.

That she had this strong of an aura was more than enough to justify what happened next. The vampires had hesitated, for just a split second but it was enough that they returned to their senses in generalized panic. The woman tumbled limp from the monolith, and was immediately caught by the vampire in charge. In synch, two others stepped closer, each grabbing and holding one of her arms, immobilizing her. These two were tall, bestial even, and their grip lifted her off the ground so the tips of her boot barely touched the cold stone. The three remaining vampires drew their weapons.

And then the woman opened her eyes, which unlike the half-blood's crimson tones, were colored a strange tone of amber. She scanned the room, lazily smirking and leaving no doubt that not only she was completely aware of just how stunning she was, but also that her current situation did not seem to bother her at all. She didn't speak at all, just tilted her head innocently, looking serene. She lifted her chin and blew her bangs off her eyes absentmindedly.

"Lady Serana," the vampire in charge began while he backed, putting distance between him and her.

 _Oh. Oh, fuck._

No answer. Serana tilted her head to the other side and rested her eyes on Lokil, the smile disturbingly frozen on her face, her brows furrowing as if she didn't quite speak that language.

 _I'm about to witness a massacre,_ she realized.

"Now, I recommend you offer no resistance and please accompany us –"

"Ha," she vocalized, then started laughing.

The sound of her voice hit Embla like lightning, all her muscles tensing at the same time. She snapped her eyes shut and pulled her head back, gritting her teeth, fighting an unexpected wave of raw desire unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Serana's laughter was musical and just so _alluring_ that even the Skyrim cold could not prevent the heat from returning to her burning cheeks.

The mixture of terror and craving was maddening. Part of her wanted to abandon any pretense of stealth and just make a run for the cave entrance. The other part wanted to make a run too, except on the direction of certain death. It wasn't the knowledge of what that vampire would do to her that scared Embla – it was the realization that she would let her.

 _Alatae Auri-el emero angu,_ she repeated in her mind over and over. _Light of Auri-el guide me._

Serana stopped just as abruptly as she had started, grinning, her eyes gone from unfocused to vicious, and though Embla's mind was still fuzzy, he could see clearly the glint of long, sharp canines. She was unable to follow her movements when she twitched, extending her neck, twisting her body. She did see when she spat out blood and the vampire holding her left arm slumped down to the ground, throat torn open. Serana's hand, now free, struck again, and the neck of the second creature that held her met a similar end, ripped apart by her sharp nails.

She dropped a crushed windpipe and rubbed her wrists, stretching them as if to test them. Apparently satisfied, she wiped her lips with her thumb, the eerie smile and empty look returning to her face. She murmured something inaudible. The vampire leader backpedaled and drew his blade.

"Don't be a fool," he warned. "We have you, and this cave, surrounded. We outnumber you –"

"Lokil," she all but whispered, her smooth voice like liquid to Embla's ears. "It is always such a pleasure. You must've angered father quite a lot, if he sent you to fetch me."

"Lady Serana –"

"Could've sent Garan," she continued, ignoring him entirely. "I wouldn't have killed Garan. But you…" she took a wobbly step forward. "We never did get along, did we? No, I don't think so."

"T-the gargoyles," Lokil ordered. "Get the gargoyles!"

The orsimer vampire took a step back and dropped his hammer, then broke into a run. The other two moved to block her from his path. Serana's expression changed in annoyance.

"Now, see," she sighed. "Dad must have known I would wake up in a terrible mood. And you just have to make it worse, don't you? You just have to be inconvenient."

She stopped paused, shook her head and looked down at her waist. Staring at her own hands, she slowly drew a dagger from her belt. "Oh," she muttered, apparently surprised it was there. Her movements were stiff. She held the blade between her thumb and forefinger and dropped it, tilting her head at the clattering sound it made when it fell. Her eyes followed the object sluggishly.

"Lady Serana –" Lokil began.

"Mmm." She raised her head and faced him again, as if only just noticing his presence.

And then, in an instant, her figure turned into a blur that reappeared millimeters from the vampire's face. She locked eyes with him, placed a hand on his shoulder and tentatively dragged it over to his nape, the other stroking his cheek, and still that _smile –_

There was a loud crack and suddenly Lokil's neck was turned in a position that no neck should ever be, and her fingers were flexed into claws, and Embla heard a –

 _R-i-i-i-i-i-p_

\- and off went the head, rolling down the stone floor. Lokil's skin cracked. A moment later, his body dissolved into dust.

 _Fuck,_ she thought, breath stuck in her throat. Across the room something exploded, and she barely had enough time to turn and see the gargoyles near the gate burst into life when the Orsimer ran past them. Or tried to, at least – the last gargoyle woke a fraction of second too early, or maybe the vampire was one second too late. A stone claw caught him by his ankle, but this time, Embla was smart enough to look away.

Or maybe not so smart, because it brought her back to the main event. In that interval of seconds, Serana had offed another half-blood and was currently toying with the last one. She moved far too fast for his blade, dodging it with such ease, it could be said she was dancing rather than fighting – if it could even be called a fight at all. And then the pair of gargoyles made it to her. She lunged for the dagger, grabbing it as she rolled away from a claw strike, and stabbed it on the vampire's foot, driving it to the hilt into solid stone.

A lot of things happened then. The vampire tried to run but his foot was stuck and he could do nothing but wait for the gargoyle to reach him. He attempted to strike it with his blade, but with a single swipe of claw the monster ripped off not only the sword but his hand with it. From then on all he could do was scream as the beast struck him over and over, ripping the skin of his abdomen open and spilling out his intestines.

 _They're pale_ , Embla thought incoherently, thoughts blanking out with horror, because they were – his viscera, instead of the usual pink, were almost white, save for the spots where the intestines had been torn open, leaking brownish half-digested blood. _They're pale because he has no blood flow._

The gargoyle struck again, this time reaching the vertebra on his back. Stone sliced through bone like butter, and the vampire's upper half went flying off. Resisting the urge to vomit, Embla turned to see how Serana was faring, afraid of what she would find.

She needn't have. As it turned out, Serana was doing just fine. She was just in time to see the vampire dodge a claw strike and slide right under the gargoyle's legs, swiping at its leg on the way. The beast stumbled, and Serana took the chance to climb on its back, wrapping one arm around its neck on a choke hold. With her other hand, she grabbed at its horn and pulled until it broke off. Serana tossed the horn into the air and caught it again, sharp end now pointing forward. The monster screeched. She struck the into its throat.

When she hopped off its back, it was already crumbling into bits of stone. Serana turned around to find the other gargoyle already on her, and hissed in annoyance when one of its claws caught her on the cheek. A line of blood ran down her cheek. When the gargoyle struck again, she sidestepped and grabbed its wrist, yanking it forward. The beast lost its balance and took a step to stabilize itself, but Serana was faster and put her foot on the way to trip it.

The gargoyle fell to the ground with a loud bang. Serana's eyes scanned the room, stopping at where the orsimer had left his war hammer. She was there and back in a flash, and before the gargoyle had a chance to stand, she grabbed the hammer with both her hands and used it to smash the creature's head into pieces with a single blow.

Serana removed the hammer from stone and leaned against it. Embla released a breath she didn't know she had been holding. At first, when the vampire didn't move, she figured she must be recovering from the battle. After a while, however, it became clear Serana was doing nothing but hug herself, the corners her mouth twitching, lips moving. Embla heard sounds, though she could not distinguish any words. It ended as abruptly as it had started, with Serana shaking her head and turning around. She wiped the blood from her cheek – _why does she bleed –_ and walked towards one of the many pools of flowing water, where she crouched to wash her hands.

 _This is it,_ Embla thought when the vampire turned her back. As a person who had in her lifetime survived through a great number of things – and people – she knew when she was faced with an opponent she could not best. She had no illusions whatsoever that she could kill that woman, even with a perfect shot. No, her only chance was to leave. She pulled out her bow – she still rather be armed than not – and then ducked from pillar to pillar, making sure to check periodically. Serana was muttering to herself again, a constant reminder –

Silence.

Embla turned around, a chill climbing through her spine, already nocking an arrow –

Serana turned.

For a moment, their eyes met, and Embla felt the vampire looked not at but _through_ her. The next second, she could see surprise cross her face, and she hesitated then because in contrast to her frozen smile, her fear seemed so genuine and so very human.

One fraction of second of indecision, yet that was enough. She was a healer, not a killer, not if she could help it, and the same impulse that had gotten her head on the chopping block made her lower her bow, against all logic and good sense. Not because she thought there was anything left to save in there, but because she knew the kind of person she would be if she did not hold on to her principles, particularly when they were tested like that.

The astonishment washed off Serana's face in exchange for scorn, and she scoffed. Embla did not expect to be spared, not after what she'd seen her do, and yet the snap of her throat did not come. There were no words, just that exchange of looks, and then the vampire dissolved into darkness, taking the shape of a cloud of bats that flew away.

* * *

She wasn't sure how long it was before she finally decided it was safe to move again, but her knees were stiff from the cold and from staying still for so long. Since Serana had disappeared and had apparently no intention of committing one extra murder, she went down the staircase, looking for something, anything that could be of use against whatever had just been unleashed. Yet between splashing in the blood and parts of men and vampire both, she couldn't stomach staying at the area for too long. Exhaustion began to take its toll on her, her limbs heavy and her mind just as weary.

"Serana," she muttered to herself as she combed over the place, tasting the name on the tip of her tongue. She repeated it three more times for good measure. Isran would certainly want to know what had happened, and she would have to pretend she did not have access to all the classified information she'd snatched.

She wasn't sure how or why Serana had been put to sleep, for how long or how exactly she'd been awakened. She made herself walk over to the obelisk where she'd first seen the woman, but the bare stone walls told her no secrets even when she ran her fingers over the cold edges. She sighed. She considered going over the bodies of each of the mutilated vampires, searching for written orders, but decided against it for the sake of her mental health.

The vampires were at Dimhollow for her, that much was clear, and from their cautious behavior, Embla could tell they had been aware of what a wild card she would turn out to be, although they severely underestimated the threat. She made her way out of the central area and started looking for the exit. Since she hadn't crossed Serana's path again, she figured there must be a way out other than the one she came in from. Granted, Serana did turn into bats which could conveniently fly, but she knew for a fact that most if not all Nord tombs had backdoor.

She eventually found what she was looking for in the shape of a side corridor that steeply led her upwards. It ended on a large circular room, ancient stone thrones at the edges of what looked like an arena. There had been powerful draugrs guarding that chamber, of which only scattered limbs remained. Whether they had been recently beaten or just dead for centuries, she did not know and did not care to find out, her eyes already scanning the room for the way out.

And then she stopped when something else entirely caught her attention. Across the room, in an arch, mysterious words had been scratched upon stone. She recognized them immediately – in crypts all over Skyrim, the Nords of old had a habit of recording stories on walls, and these were not at all uncommon. No, the unusual part was that a single word seemed to pop to her eyes, almost glow. She took a couple steps in that direction, curious yet cautious, and confirmed without a shadow of doubt that one specific clutter of scrawls was indeed glowing.

 _What the fuck._

The closer she got, the brighter the light seemed to grow, and as she approached, she began to hear whispering. She turned around to look for the source, then covered her ears to confirm that it was coming from _inside_ her head, rather than from her surroundings. The closer she got to the wall, the louder the sound grew, but she couldn't distinguish any familiar words. Curiosity speaking louder than good sense, she closed the final distance between herself and the wall, brushing the tips of her fingers against the glowing stone –

And recoiled as if hit, the corners of her vision darkening, the voices gone from whispers to roars in a split second. Her heart sped up and the light coming from the word reshaped itself into tendrils that reached towards her. She could feel the energy flow _in_ from the point where her skin had touched the stone, up the whole length of her finger and then her palm, burning, crawling up her arm as if alive. She leaned against the wall, clamping her shoulder, trying to stop whatever it was from following its course into her system, from her armpit to under her collarbone to her chest to her heart –

 _it burns_

She would have screamed but the following heartbeat sent the invading energy into her lungs and all she could produce was a strangled wheeze. She let herself slide down the stone wall to the floor, hitting the ground hard. The light had stopped flowing from the wall and she could do nothing but watch as the last few tendrils breached her body and disappeared under her skin, and then it was back at her heart and Embla gritted her teeth, closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Her heart contracted once more, pumping the alien sensation into every inch of her body, from chest down her torso to leg and toe. She gasped, her vision blurring, eyes tearing up with the pain.

 _Most substances are unable to cross into the brain, s_ he thought incoherently, even though she could tell whatever violated her was entirely immaterial.

It was the last thing to cross her mind before blacking out.

* * *

Serana Volkihar had one bitch of a headache.

 _the cat and the rat and the cheese and the geese and the squeeze and the wheeze_

She had rushed her way out of a chamber of draugr and into the open night of Skyrim. It was winter, that much was obvious with how much snow had piled up on the crypt exit. She'd had to fight her way out through a couple more gargoyles and at least a dozen draugr who were just as angry at being woken up as she was –

 _the snow and the blow and the flow and the roll and the_

\- but she was out, finally, after who knew how many years. That, too, was an issue: she'd been buried for divines knew how long, and the only vague notion of time she had was that it was winter.

 _the cold and the mold and the fold and the_

Her memory was still scrambled, that much was clear. She couldn't quite pinpoint where exactly Dimhollow was, couldn't quite summon the information in her mind, except it was somewhere in the –

 _the scale and the whale and the ale and the male_

\- somewhere in the –

 _the sail and the nail and the gale and the snail_

"In the PALE," Serana said out loud. "I'm in the Pale. And I need to go to Castle Volkihar. Which, I don't know how long it's been, but it should be near –"

 _include allude delude rude nude_

She hadn't fed in – she didn't know how long, but it must have been a while. She could tell because of how strong an aura she had when she woke – enough to stagger a half-blood as old as Lokil, however old that was right then. But mostly, she knew she hadn't fed in a while because –

 _fun run bun sun_

\- because the Voice was louder and more persistent than usual, and she had a hard time trying to –

 _the sun the sun the sun the sun the sun_

"I need to fucking think," she hissed.

 _SunsunsunsunSUNSUNSUNSUN_

"What about it," Serana held her head in her palms. "What about the fucking sun?!"

There _was_ something with the sun, she knew. Something with the sun and the Elder Scroll she was carrying. Something important. She needed to get home and figure it out. There were things that helped her think, one of which was the familiarity of her room. But to find her room she needed to find her castle, and to find her castle she needed to remember where it was. Which brought her back to square one.

 _brood food intrude seclude protrude fortitude_

"No," she muttered. "Where was it?"

 _Sunsunsunsunsunsunsun_

"FUCK!" she yelled in frustration. Situations like that usually ended in her going on rampages and breaking things, occasionally murdering people as she went. But she was in the middle of nowhere, Skyrim – in the middle of the Pale where, as far as she could remember, there was nothing but ice – and she unfortunately had already murdered the people sent to retrieve her, which left her with a total of zero scapegoats to lash at.

Serana crouched on the snow, covered her ears and rocked back and forth. That, too, used to help – at least when she was younger, and the Voice wasn't quite so loud.

 _the man and the pan and the can – I need to feed – and the span and the plan and the clan and_

She didn't _need_ to, of course. Children of Coldharbour were, ironically, the most human of all the vampires. Serana could, if she wanted, walk into a tavern and order a mug of mead and a bowl of soup, and then she'd fill her stomach and perhaps go to bed with one of the nordsmen. Unlike lesser vampires, Children of Coldharbour had the privilege of enjoying the real pleasures of eternal life – food, a drink and a lay. She could even go out in –

 _the sun the sun the sun the sun the sun_

\- in the sun. Serana did not technically need to feed, ever – none of her kind did – but they always fed, solely because Molag Bal was a cruel prince whose domain was subjugation, and there was no greater delight than giving those he owned the illusion of choice. It was an endless, futile cycle which got more painful the more she attempted to resist. There was the determination to not do it, and then the shame and the guilt when she finally broke down and did it, followed by the rush – the pure delight that only feeding could grant her – and then…

There was punishment for feeding – damned if she didn't, damned if she did. Just a reminder that if she had been stronger – resisted longer –

Serana didn't like thinking about it. She could give in, of course, let go of that pretense, let go of her _will_ and finally admit defeat and live like the beast she was, hopping from one meal to the next, riding the ecstasy like a skooma junkie who prevented the inevitable crash with another dose of the drug. And yet she felt this – the resistance, that final act of defiance – that was the last shred of humanity she had left, and so she clung to it as hard as she could, and for as long as she could.

Ironic, she knew, particularly for a vampire known for her viciousness.

 _da da da da da da eeeeeee na na na na na hello. hello hello hello hello_

For how long had she not fed? Serana didn't know if others had a Voice like she did, but she knew each and every one of the pure bloods of Molag Bal had their own personal kind of torment. It crossed her mind that right then she might be the Child of Coldharbour to withstand it the longest.

 _ha! ha ha ha ha ha ha ha_

"Please," she whimpered. "Just let me –"

 _the commotion the motion the potion the notion the lotion the emotion_

She dug her nails in her palms, deep enough that it drew blood. That, too, was a thing – unlike other, less pure vampires, she bled. Not like as much as a mortal, of course – she knew from experience that she could not bleed to death – but she did maintain some shape of circulation, despite the lack of a heartbeat. She stared at her own blood them, watched it flow down her hand and drip into the snow.

Blood. Blood was how they woke her up. She'd woken up to the smell of blood in the room – some poor mortal's whose head was on a spike – and the taste of blood on her lips, a blood she knew was her own. She licked her hand. The flavor was metallic and uniquely bitter.

"I never asked for this," she said out loud to no one in particular. "I never wanted any of this."

 _the father the mother the daughter_

She hated Harkon for it. He could tell.

 _Thing is_ , Serana thought, and for a moment the Voice was completely still, just so she could arrive at that particular conclusion, _Thing is I hate myself enough to think I deserved it._

 _Yes and woe is you. Poor Serana. You have a body count –_

 _the bowl and the hole and the sole and the scroll_

 _\- as high as that of a small army. You must be approaching your dear papa's score –_

 _the scroll the scroll the scroll the scroll the scroll_

"I'm losing it," she muttered. "I'm gonna lose my fucking mind. I need to –"

 _feeeeeeeeed_

"Yes," she agreed, standing and turning to where she'd seen a road. "Yeah, I just need to do that."

She ended up finding what she needed – a town and an inn. Serana checked in, ordered a soup and a mug of mead, and then took one of the local miners to her room and fucked him to exhaustion. Then, when she was done, she bled him dry.

The Voice was silent for a while.

And then it wasn't.


	4. Chapter 4

" – alive! I thought you were a goner, what in Oblivion went on back there?! I just crossed a complete massacre! Did… did you do that? Did you take on all those vampires?"

"Hnng," Embla grunted, shielding her barely open eyes with her outstretched palm.

"Here," large hands reached down and helped her sit up, then offered her a flask of water. It made her notice her mouth was dry, and she accepted the drink wordlessly. Agmaer was crouched next to her, fidgeting in place while he waited, but Hakar was nowhere to be found. The boy understood the silent question made with her eyes.

"I couldn't find him, the bastard," Agmaer explained. "I chased him almost all the way back to Dawnstar, then lost his trail on a snowstorm."

Embla rubbed her eyes, then stared at her hand. It was red and swollen, charred where the fingertips had made contact with the stone. On closer inspection, she could see the beginnings of a blister. She pressed her fingers against the opposite palm and muttered a quick healing spell, wincing when the skin stretched.

"I got knocked out… some kind of magical trap," she mumbled, frowning. She squinted at the wall, but whatever magic had hit her was gone. She dusted herself and stood, her ears still ringing. "It doesn't matter. I know what the vampires were after."

Agmaer's eyes brightened. "You do? Then the mission wasn't a total failure after all!"

His excitement was completely inappropriate for the disaster of a situation they were about to face, but Embla didn't have the heart to burst his bubble.

"Well? Don't leave me hanging!"

She ran her fingers through her hair. It had gone loose at some point during the infiltration mission, and she tied it back on a low ponytail.

"It's a bit of a long story…"

* * *

"And so you're telling me she took them out." Isran echoed her words.

"That's what I said, yes," Embla replied, annoyed.

"All six of them."

"To be fair, a gargoyle killed one," she corrected. "A gargoyle which she then proceeded to kill. Barehanded."

In front of her, Isran put down his mug. It was filled with coffee – the Dawnguard leader wouldn't drink anything that muddled his senses. Embla had no such qualms and had been itching for a hot bath and a drink from the moment she'd arrived. Though right then she would even stomach down the local wines and mead, Embla would absolutely kill for a dose of jagga or rotmeth.

She hadn't told him of the Elder Scroll. She'd decided to keep that information for herself until she could figure out what it meant. If there was danger, which there might very well be, she'd promptly inform the Thalmor, which was much better equipped to deal with it than an organization which currently consisted of a band of ragtags in training.

"And what of Hakar?"

"Gone. I couldn't find him, sir," Agmaer replied. "I lost his trail and decided to go back for Embla instead."

The dark skinned man rose from his seat and gave his back to them, shuffling through a shelf. "It is grave news you bring me. A daughter of Coldharbour… not many of those. And in Skyrim, only two possibilities." He stopped, pulled a leather-bound book and flipped through the pages, stopping at one. He tossed the book on top of the table.

"Serana. Valerica. Which one was it?"

Embla leaned forward to look, even though she already knew the answer. The drawing of Serana was a good likeness, despite lacking the effect the woman had in person. The other picture was of an older woman – Valerica, she presumed. She could tell they were somehow related, though even in red ink, Valerica's gaze was much softer.

"Serana. One of the half-bloods said so."

Isran flipped the book shut with a single hand and sighed. "I feared so." He rubbed his hand over his face, tense. "We'll need double the vigilance… intensify the trainings… it's no good, she's no good at all."

The leader focused his gaze back at them. "Of course. Agmaer, there are some people I want you to look for. Old friends that might be of help now. Come back tomorrow for a briefing and instructions on where to find them. Embla, you can do… whatever medics do when they're not patching people up. You'd know that better than I."

Isran paused for a moment. "It's a wonder you escaped alive at all."

It sounded more like a question than an affirmative, and Embla felt pressed to answer. She hesitated for a split second.

"She…didn't see me. She made quick work of the vampires, and then she was gone in a rush." She pressed her lips in a thin line, then added, "I would have been dead for sure had she seen me, but I think… she just wasn't looking. Perhaps she had much on her mind. Besides, children of the forest are notoriously sneaky."

Isran narrowed his eyes. "I see…" He waited, as if expecting Embla to say something more, but was met with silence. He sighed and flicked his hand off. "Get out of my sight, the two of you. You have given me much to think about."

* * *

 _Morndas, 14th of Evening Star, 4E207_

 _I have returned from my field mission with various, yet concerning news. Upon investigating the vampire activity at Dimhollow Crypt, I have finally uncovered the source of the local vampires' agitation. It appears the crypt had been used to seal Serana Volkihar, who has been freed by her fellow vampires and whose location is currently unknown._

 _Her behavior fell in place with how literature described her – ruthless and erratic, she immediately attacked her rescuers after being woken, a fight which ended with a complete massacre. While her current intentions or the motivations behind releasing her from captivity are unknown, her volatile temper is bound to stir more trouble within the vampire political scheme._

 _Attached is information for her dossier and the drawing of a likeness, copied from one of the Dawnguard's vampire-tracking records._

 _Beyond that, the Dawnguard continues its expansion and recruitment. While recruit Hakar has deserted, the order's acquired three new members: a recruit by the name of Vori (Nord, female), a blacksmith by the name of Gunmar (Nord, male) and an engineer who goes by Sorine Jurard (Breton, female)._

 _Due to limited resources, I currently share my laboratory and materials with the latter. Attached profile._

 _Will report any scientific developments relevant to the interests of the Dominion._

 _Adma'agea E._

 _ **PROFILE: SERANA VOLKIHAR**_

 _Race: proto-Nord (presumedly)._

 _Age: Unknown. Records on the Volkihar family date them as far back as the Merethic Era._

 _Affiliations: Volkihar vampire clan._

 _Level of threat: Very high._

 _Talos worship: Highly unlikely. Vampire's disappearance predates Tiber Septim's birth._

 _Observations: Proceed with extreme caution. This agent would strongly advise against engaging in combat._

 _ **PROFILE: SORINE JURARD**_

 _Race: Breton._

 _Age: 27_

 _Affiliations: Dawnguard._

 _Level of threat: Low._

 _Observations: has shown herself to be resourceful, intelligent and extremely well versed in chemistry and Dwemer technology. Shows no open animosity towards the Dominion. This agent sees high scientific potential if granted the proper resources and would strongly recommend voluntary acquisition. Awaiting clearance to secure the asset._

* * *

 _wake up_

 _I'm already awake_ , she thought impatiently, stirring in bed.

wake up

 _I could have used those wake up calls on the last two thousand years or so._

 _wake up wake up wake up wake up_

"Gods fucking damn it," she hissed, slamming her palms on the mattress and sitting up. Too fast – she was hit by a wave of dizziness and held her forehead with her hand. "What do you want?!"

 _she sits up_

 _No shit._

Serana sucked in a deep breath and let it out ever so slowly, focusing with all her might on the cool air moving in and out of her lungs.

 _she sighs_

Her eyelid twitched involuntarily, and she bunched the blankets on her hands, opening and closing them reflexively. It couldn't be much past midday. And although she had slept for the last two millennia or so, and even despite how little sleep vampires needed, she'd spent the last three days on a nonstop path to her home-sweet-castle, and she felt she'd earned that rest.

If only.

She plopped down in bed, letting herself sink in the soft cushion. Stared at the roof, the sharp corners of the cut stone; laid down on one side, then the other, then belly up again. Flipped her pillow so the warm side would face down. Remembered they were technically both cold sides because she made very little body heat since – aha! – she was dead. Pulled the covers closer so that her feet would be the same temperature as the rest of her body.

 _she tosses and turns and tosses and turns_

"Feeling narrative today, huh," she muttered, then closed her eyes. "Can't you please go away?" Serana begged for the billionth time.

 _do-de-da-de-do_ the Voice sung back, ignoring her as usual.

She covered her head with the pillow, opened her mouth and yelled.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaah!"

 _aaaaaaaaaaaah!_ The voice yelled back at her.

Serana grabbed the pillow with both her hands and threw it against the opposite wall. It bounced back and flopped down in bed, near her feet. She pulled the blankets over her head and closed her eyes, waiting for the air to grow too warm to breathe. And then remembered it never would, of course, because she was – guess what – dead! After ten excruciating minutes, she pulled her head out of her blanket-cave, closed her eyes and began counting little bats flying out the window.

 _one little bat two little bats time wasting time wasting time wasting_

"Three little bats, four little bats."

 _five little bats six little bats father mother daughter prophecy heart scroll sun sun sun sun sun_

"Seven little bats, eight little bats."

 _sun sun sun soon soon soon do something soon scroll heart father sleep when you're dead oh wait you're dead dead dead dead heart father kill sun scroll_

"Nine fucking little bats," she grit her teeth.

 _ten little bats_

She opened her eyes. The midday sunshine seeped through the window, making her wince. How long had she been trying to catch some sleep? How long did she have until she had to get up? She made mental calculations. She didn't properly have any appointments, but she couldn't very well lie there forever. Her shoulder muscles felt tense, and she made a deliberate effort to relax them. She repeated the process with her facial musculature.

 _mother missing father psychotic father father father_

 _Yes, he is. And what am I?_

 _kill you kill you kill you kill you_

 _Some sleep,_ she pleaded. _I probably need twelve hours but right now I'd take even two._

Two hours sleep would probably make her more tired when she woke up, not less, but right then she was too exhausted to care for any kind of logics.

 _failure failure failure failure failure_

 _What are you even talking about?_

 _give up can't do it failure failure failure_

 _I just need some rest –_

 _disaster disappointment failure failure failure_

"Fine!" she snarled, sitting back up.

Resigned, she extended her legs and bent forwards, reaching with her hands all the way down to her toetips, stretching.

 _don't get out of bed wait do it wait don't wait do it_

She bent her left arm and pulled on her elbow with the right hand, then switched sides and repeated the movement.

 _don't get up don't get up don't get up don't_

She flexed her neck laterally until her ear touched her shoulder, once to the left, twice, once to the right, twice. She moved her wrists in circles.

 _don't do it don't do it don't do it_

She turned sideways, the tips of her feet touching the ground.

 _DON'T DO IT DON'T DO IT_

Serana got out of bed.

 _aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!_

 _Have mercy_ , she mentally whined.

Serana crossed the room and stopped in front of her dresser, over which a mirror hung. She met her own gaze on the polished surface, her braids undone, deep rings under tormented eyes, her clothes crumpled and unkempt. The sunlight touching her cheek burned just enough to be unpleasant.

 _What the fuck._

She brushed her hand against the rays of clarity, staring at how the light danced between her fingers. She touched a stray lock of hair, caught it between her index and middle finger, watched mesmerized the image of herself holding it, how the sun reflected on the dark strands making them almost glow –

She blinked, and her likeness was gone, the window replaced by a large painting. All the color in the room was made gray by darkness. In the mirror, only her empty, unmade bed, the pillow still where she'd thrown it. She felt dizzy and held on to her dresser for stability.

 _you're dead you're mad you're dead you're mad_

The room hadn't had a window in – ever, actually. Vampires had no dark rings, and however exhausted she was, it never really showed.

 _the bread and the bed and the dead and the sled and the head and the shed and the red_

She she shut her eyes and sighed, counting from one to ten and back to one before giving her back to the mirror and turning to make her bed. Folding, tidying – the repetitive movements did her good. She lit up the lamps on the room up with a flick of her wrist, even though she could see in the dark. The warm colors the dancing flame cast in the room were comforting.

 _she tries to put her thoughts back in track_

 _And you're not helping._

She looked over her shoulder, made sure she was alone, then pushed her bed slightly aside and pulled on a loose brick previously hidden by the headboard. She peeked in, and there it was – the Elder Scroll. Hiding it was a formality, of course – she had no illusions that her father, the master of this castle, didn't know where she put her trinkets, especially because – because –

 _they can hear you they can hear me hear me hear me_

 _That's ridiculous_ , she told herself, yet that was how it felt.

Gritting her teeth, she replaced the brick and the bed, content that the scroll was untouched - for now.

 _hello. hello. hello. hello. hello. hello._

"Gods, but aren't you unbearable today," she muttered, rubbing the sleepiness of her eyes.

Giving up on any attempts of peace altogether, she made her way out of her room, turning the key twice as she left. The lock, too, was a formality – the true protection of her bedroom was on the years of piled-up trap spells she'd been placing ever since she could cast her first rune. Still, rituals, routines – those little things helped her keep the world standing.

She put the key on her left pocket as usual and made her way downstairs, going past the dining room on her way. The familiar mahogany table from Valenwood was still there, she noted. The polished piece of furniture was probably as old as she was. Some members of the court sat on the velvet chairs around it, but she didn't dignify any of them with a greeting and they knew better than to talk to her when not talked to.

 _plotting scheming looking at you looking at you looking atyouatyouatyou BACKSTABBERS traitors kill you kill you kill you_

For once, Serana had no objections.

Two hundred years of her and Valerica's absence and Harkon's monopoly had turned the Volkihar court into his; a stale dance for power that dragged on for millennia. The huge gap she missed didn't bother her much – politics was what she did, and politics was what she would do. The loyalties of the court were an issue that would be addressed in due time – of which she had plenty.

Right then though, it was rest she needed, rest which her omnipresent companion kept denying her. That too was soon to be fixed.

 _she makes her way through the castle_

Serana walked almost robotically over immaculate stone flooring and past beautiful tapestries that hung where one would usually expect a window, her boots clapping rhythmically against the ground, the Voice babbling nonstop in her head. Her body felt stiff and unresponsive from fatigue.

The castle was stunningly well kept, something which she'd credit Garan for – her father was far too lost in his paranoia to pay attention to such trifle things as aesthetics, but the Dunmer vampire had always been meticulous. She paused for a second to take a longer look at one of the pictures hanging in the wall – a painting of a giant, dark anchor that was bound by chains to an oblivion gate above. From the portal, the purplish shades of Coldharbour seemed to seep down.

 _she stops to give the ornament some thought, unsure whether it suits her tastes_

She didn't suppress a smile. The decoration lacked her mother's warmth, but there was a definite sense of style there, one she knew was not her father's.

Reading such little details was vital to Serana's past of political success – as much as her coercive skills, she gathered. The castle, the décor, those were almost living things that told her a story of her father's gradual but definite loss of power that went hand in hand with his mental degradation. She wasn't sure yet just how far went Harkon's delusions, but the very fact that the logistics of the castle was run by someone else told her that they were nearing a coup, and that her return both frustrated and helped distinct groups.

She could tell, too, that Orthjolf and Vingalmo, who were so far into their own power dispute for the inheritance of a clan not theirs, they weren't even being subtle about it. Those two would have to be put in their places, but all in due time.

 _All in due time,_ she repeated to herself over and over like a mantra, reaching for the cellar door. First things first, her rest. Sleep.

 _she opens the door to the dark depths below_

The wooden floor of the lower level creaked under her weight as she climbed down the stairs. There, organized in shelves neatly arranged over the walls, were lines and lines of bottles, neatly grouped together in categories, labeled and sorted by color. She absently ran her finger over the bottle's necks, the ambient temperature glass feeling cold even to her touch.

 _blood and wine_

She tilted her head at the comment, letting her hand linger over a flask. The Voice wasn't too far off; they treated blood with the same exquisiteness some mortals treated their wines. Each sample harvested was different, affected by the source's mood, age, gender… Serana pulled a bottle and scanned the label, squinting to make out the words, her sight blurry from exhaustion. She scowled and put it back. Arousal, anger, sadness, all that caused subtle yet perceptible changes in flavor.

 _she searches for a drink of her taste, tuning off the distant, high pitched screams_

The Volkihar had their own…production, and her father always did like the taste of terror. She took her time running her fingers over the bottle tips, pausing every now and then to check the names. She didn't worry about being interrupted – the half-bloods hardly ever went down the cellar, because even though they did need blood, as opposed to Children of Coldharbour, they were damn proud about it. It was always amusing – and often used as a means of torture – to watch them compete which could fast the longest, as if it marked some sort of increased purity.

Serana, who had faced Molag Bal herself, had nothing to prove to anyone. She had a hard time finding something to her taste; her father's preferences were rather crude, and because she'd been gone for so long, they now dominated most of the available bottles. Her search eventually paid off, and she grinned with satisfaction when she spotted an aged bottle of her favorite.

She blew the dust off it and removed the cork.

 _her fangs slide out at the scent of blood_

Serana made a conscious movement to slide them back in, mildly irritated. She was not a savage, damn it. She'd had to feed from a living person on her way, sure, but that was not the rule and she hated doing it. Some found it thrilling. Serana found it messy, complicated and it gave her a unique brand of anxiety. She eyed the lid for a good three seconds, the Voice gone silent at last. She made circles with her hand, watching the liquid twist and turn inside the flask.

 _Are you quite sure about this? It's not so bad today. Annoying, sure, but at least it's not aggressive._

 _the sea and the pea and the tea and the tree and the pee and the bee and the ski_

Serana downed half the bottle's contents with three long gulps. It went down pleasantly cold against her throat, the sweetness of it assaulting her senses. The effect was immediate, and she swayed on her feet, feeling giddy. She finished her drink and placed the empty recipient on top of the shelf, so that whoever oversaw the cellar would get to know her tastes. Then she reached for another bottle, something with a little more kick to it.

The weariness that clung to her very bones seemed to dissipate with every swig. Blood would usually enhance a vampire's senses, not numb them, but they had special mixes designed to mimic the blissful "getting completely wasted" effect. Serana knew what to drink for that purpose. The tastes were pungent and thick, but once she'd already opened her appetite with something of quality, the blood of skooma-addicts mixed with stamina potions and whichever else went in was easier to keep down.

The Voice protested, of course it did, weakly at first, more severely with every consecutive mouthful, but by the time it reached a scream, Serana was far too inebriated to give a damn. Leaning against the wall for support, she let herself slide down, laughing hysterically all the way, letting the third or fourth bottle slip from her hands.

Finally, she thought with satisfaction when the edges of her vision began to darken.

She closed her eyes, feeling the world spin, still chuckling despite herself. The pain didn't quite register when her shoulder hit the ground, but she vaguely remembered thinking it should have.

* * *

Maybe it was the expatriation, maybe it was the common interest for science. Whatever it was, Sorine and Embla got along swimmingly. At first it was a pain sharing a room with her – Embla was a physician and Sorine was a physicist and Isran didn't much seem to care for the difference because they were both scientists. But there was a lot of difference, and the logistics were complex, to say the least.

Sorine's loud machinery stressed out Embla's lab mice, and the other made a point to rebuild the alchemy table from scratch, and though admittedly the improvements were amazing, she hadn't been pleased to wake up one day to a torn-down lab. It took Embla forever to figure out the apocalyptical number of gadgets attached everywhere. And then there was the fact Sorine used her ingredients. A lot.

Eventually though their issues were sorted out, and Embla decided that despite the occasional inconvenient explosion, she enjoyed the Breton's company. When they were not shooting murderous glares at one another, or raising questions about the other's methodologies, or bickering in general, that was. Granted, sharing a room with her could be stressful, what with how much she seemed fond of substances that were volatile. But the fact that there were two scientists meant the Dawnguard was forced to acquire more equipment, and now they had flask of all shapes – conical, test tubes, pear shaped, beakers.

Currently, she was sitting in front of the distiller, watching liquids heating and bubbling, the vapor going through a series of tubes until a clear, limpid liquid finally dripped at the, as Sorine would call it, 'half-a-cone'. She scowled a bit at the barely comprehensible mess the Breton had turned the equipment into, complete with an attached thermostat, five potency switches and a seemingly unlimited amount of energy-reusing appendages.

It does work, she thought, thinking back to the machinery labs were equipped back in Alinor, and it's impressive that she managed to build this from Dwemer scrap.

"The things you could blow up with this," Sorine muttered wistfully, popping on her side, head tilted, watching the alcohol trickle into the flask.

"Paws off!" She hissed, only halfway serious. "That's for asepsis!"

"Right, right," the woman rolled her eyes. Her hair was pulled back on a ponytail, there was a smear of oil on her cheek, a filthy piece of cloth on her shoulder, and she held a wrench on her right hand. "I don't think the power of your concentrated brainwaves make the distillation faster, you know. You don't have to watch the thing happen. You've done it a thousand times."

"I'm thinking," she replied for what had to be the billionth time. "You should try it sometime. It can save tons of materials, and it's free. Besides, I'm out of lab mice."

Sorine tapped the wrench against the opposite palm, hopping from one foot to the other. Embla rolled her eyes and turned her spinning chair around to face her – and a surprisingly useful modification that for once they did not have back in the universities she'd studied in.

"Maybe you could catch yourself a Skeever," Sorine suggested, walking back to her current project. In the corner, a menacing, half-repaired Dwemer ballista sat, its inside gears on display like guts spilling out.

"Uh. No. I don't think so."

"Well Valenwood, if you've got nothing to do, why don't you give me a hand over here?" Sorine crouched and poked the device with her wrench.

Embla pushed the ground with her feet and let the chair slid across the room until it bumped on the opposite wall, rolling her eyes at the nickname. She leaned forward and peeked into the mechanism. "What do you need?"

"Can you pass me the grease? It's on the second shelf, there," Embla stood and looked for it. "A black jar," Sorine continued. "Right next to the eye."

Right, she thought, spotting the flask in question. The eye.

As if reading her thoughts, Sorine turned around, grabbed the grease and asked, "How long are you going to keep that, anyway? Maybe I should give it a nickname."

Embla shrugged, staring at Vigilant Tolan's eye, which currently floated in a glass filled with alcohol. "Retrieving memories from it is a process that would take a mix of chemistry, conjuration and illusion spells. Frankly, it's just too advanced for me to do it. I suppose I'll send it back to Alinor when the whole… border situation resolves itself."

"Alinor," Sorine repeated. "You mean the Summerset Isles? You still have contact with the Dominion?"

There was something about her tone that was unexpectedly hostile, and Embla flinched, then grew angry at it. "Well, do you still have contact with High Rock?"

Sorine paused her tinkering for a split second. "Right. That was insensitive. Sorry."

There was a moment of awkward silence between them, and Embla sighed, taking it upon herself to try and clear things up. "We're not all bad, you know."

"Just most of you?" Sorine replied, but this time Embla could tell the joke in her voice.

"Just the military branch of the Altmeri, really," she leaned back against the chair and stared at the roof. "Love for diversity is actually a big part of Bosmeri culture and we're pretty much friendly tree people, and the Khajiiti are just… sort of doing their own thing, but with moon sugar and skooma." She shrugged. "If it counts for anything, the Altmeri are often assholes with us too. I think they're just naturally dense. They even have this little pamphlet they give out in universities on how to interact with other races. Swear to Y'ffre."

"You're shitting me," Sorine snorted.

"Do not touch a Khajiit's tail without permission," Embla recited, making air quotes with her fingers. "Do not refer to them as 'kitties' or any derogatory feline term. Do not mock the Khajiiti's unique dialect. Do not refer to Bosmeri as 'shorties' or any derogatory height-based terms. Do not imply to Bosmeri they are cannibals."

By the last one, Sorine had stopped working altogether and was busy laughing herself to tears. "Holy Talos," she said, and then caught herself. "Sorry, I mean – ugh, force of habit. I've been in Skyrim for too long. Talos is not even in my pantheon."

"I really don't care," Embla interrupted. "And, to their defense, Agmaer managed to commit every single blunder on the list when we first met."

There was a fraction of second when they locked eyes with each other, and then the two burst out in a fit of giggles. Once they caught their breaths, Sorine wiped her hands on the filthy cloth, which somehow managed to make them dirtier, and resumed removing and oiling cogs from the ballista.

"Why'd you join the Dominion?"

"Valenwood? We're a bit apathetic one way or the other," Embla explained. "Empire, Dominion, Bosmeri don't really care much about whoever thinks they're in charge, as long as they leave us be. Most of us do prefer the Dominion, though. I think the Khajiiti share the sentiment."

That made Sorine pause. "Oh? Why's that?"

"They're better." Embla shrugged. "Definitely better than the humans – no offense. Frankly, Altmeri and humans can be equally racist –" Sorine opened her mouth to protest, but Embla raised her palm and cut her short, "Stormcloaks."

"…point taken," the Breton reluctantly conceded.

"And at least with the Thalmor we get… a lot of good things. They're oddly respectful as governors, for instance – in Valenwood they keep to the cities and paths determined and the Dominion has gone as far as declaring protective measures towards the Green."

Embla stood, walked back to her table and shuffled on her backpack. "They don't… trespass either, not like humans do. If you say an area of the Green is for Bosmeri only, or if the Khajiiti says certain dunes of Elswyr shouldn't be stepped on, then you don't see Altmeri going there uninvited and they can in fact get arrested for it if they do."

"Huh," Sorine blinked. "That's… unexpected."

"It's smart of them. They like to be on our good side, and that's something Cyrodiil never bothered to try." Embla grabbed an apple from her bag and sunk her teeth into it. She could never quite get used to the flavor, but it was her favorite plant-based food. "There's other stuff. We get to move around freely between the provinces of Alinor. The Bosmeri love it. The cities are always bustling with different folk, but they don't go where they shouldn't. And we get to use their services, too."

"Services?" Sorine queried. By then she'd completely given up on her work and put down her wrench on the floor next to her, enthralled by the tales of different lands. "Gimme a bite of that apple." She reached out.

"With those hands? No way. I'll leave you a half." She bit, chewed and swallowed, pleased with the crunchy texture of the fruit. "Services, yeah. I studied in Alinor – the capitol, I mean. Alinor is the name for the capitol and for the kingdom. We get to use their universities – become mages, physicians, engineers, historians, you name it – and then we can just stay there and study, or we can go back to where we're from and try to… change things. Make them better."

"What is it like, a real university?" Sorine's eyes twinkled with the question. "I've always wanted to attend, but all we have around the Empire are scattered mage colleges and I'm more into other branches of science. When I moved to Skyrim I tried to join the College of Winterhold, but they wouldn't have me because they have no courses for alchemy-engineers."

 _And what a waste that is._

"It's great," She said, because she honestly felt that way. "Alinor University and the Thalmor are like fire and water. Ali-U is strongly against the war effort and it was the dean who pushed for peace with Hammerfell. It's fantastic," she grew excited. "There's so much diversity. We have a lot of humans actually – mostly imperials, but there's people from all over. The younger Altmeri are really open minded and nothing like the Justiciars you're used to. And there's so much knowledge – so many brilliant people of every corner with different ideas and experiences."

"How can that be?" Sorine extended her legs and stretched. "Seems like two distinct forces vying for the rule would just make a weak nation."

"As much as they clash, they also cooperate." Embla clicked her tongue. "The Thalmor and Ali-U want the same thing, they just go different ways about it. Just like Bosmeri are rooted on diversity and Nords are rooted on tradition, Altmeri's core principles are knowledge and freedom."

"How in Oblivion is what the Thalmor is doing promoting freedom?"

Embla looked out the window, thinking, then tossed Sorine the apple. "What you need to understand is that in the Summerset Isles, every kid learns to read when they turn six, some even before that. School's mandatory and they all come out with at least the basics of mathematics, literature, history and the five schools of magic."

She paused to let that sink in, so that Sorine could consider just how different that was from the reality in Skyrim. "Altmeri all believe every person is entitled to their opinion, but the Thalmor believe it must be an educated opinion, while Ali-U thinks people should be allowed to choose even without education, and they should be able to choose whether to get it at all."

"That seems… counter intuitive of a university."

"It is what it is. The Thalmor wants to speed up the process militarily. Ali-U doesn't believe in using force. Ultimately, they balance each other out. There's obviously corruption and power plays on both sides, but their core beliefs remain steady, and that's why they coexist so well. I know they sound… indoctrinating, and they can be, but…"

She trailed off. Sorine finished the apple and stared at it, then at her, as if holding the key to a mystery. "Was it your choice, leaving the Green Pact?"

Right in the wound, Embla thought. "Yeah. Yeah, it was. Things… happened, things that made me want to distance myself from my culture. But that was by choice. And doing what I did, I don't regret it. It did me good."

"Apples really worth that much?"

Embla snorted, then crossed her legs on top of the chair. "Sometimes we need to go out into the world to find ourselves. I'd expect you to understand."

Sorine smirked. "Yeah. I know the feeling of wanderlust. Is that why you signed up for the army? Wanderlust? Or do you believe in… forceful education?"

"I see where the Thalmor is coming from, although I disagree with their methods." She grinned. "I'm wholeheartedly an Ali-U child, for all the good and bad that is. But the army pays well, and I wanted to go somewhere far away from Valenwood, so I figured I could put my knowledge to test on distant places. It's been a learning experience. I appreciate it."

"Well, Valenwood," Sorine stood and tossed the apple core into the trash bin, missing it by a few centimeters. She cursed and walked over to put it in the trash properly. "If you're trying to change my view on the mer, you're doing a nice job. Almost makes me want to go and see for myself."

"Why don't you?" she perked up. "You'd need Thalmor clearance for a passport, and acceptance from a university. I could sponsor you for both. Write you a recommendation letter and everything."

"Oh," Sorine blinked, and then looked away. There was a long moment of silence, enough that Embla wondered if she'd offended her somehow.

"You can take your time to think about it," She added. "And it's fine if you don't want to. I get it, really. We've earned our bad name."

"No, I -" the other took a deep breath. "I'd like that very much, I think."

 _Is she –_

"Hey," she punched Sorine on the shoulder. "Don't tear up on me, yeah? I'll write them, ask them to send me the papers. Would be nice if you had a research project to present – something you want to study or build. Write about your passion for Dwemer tech maybe."

"I think I know just the thing," she said. "I have something in the works – it's more chemistry than engineering, really, but it has so much potential…"

"Is it whatever you're snatching all my troll fat for, incidentally?"

"Yes!" she perked up. "I'm going to make the biggest explosion you could conceive. You have no idea."

Please don't, Embla thought, but didn't say.

" – Oh, please," Sorine rolled her eyes, as if she could read her thoughts. "All within a controlled environment. Don't give me that face." Something crossed her mind then, and she abruptly grew serious. "Isran, though, and the Dawnguard – I'm not sure it would be right to leave them. Not when the vampires are going wild."

"Well, vampires will be around forever. Literally. You won't."

"You're unusually wise for someone so young, Valenwood."

"I'm sixty-four! I'm older than you!"

"What an ancient yet remarkably well-preserved specimen."

"I'm going to murder you." She said, hiding a grin.

"Sure you will. Go check the distillery, shortie. Your alcohol is done."


	5. Chapter 5

The headache that woke Serana was a force to be reckoned with.

 _Daedra and divines have mercy_ , she thought, shielding her eyes with her hand. She dropped it a second later – there wasn't really any light source to be blocked in the cellar. Her left shoulder sent pulses of pain that irradiated to her arm. Her head throbbed. Her tongue felt dry and thick on her mouth. Her throat itched for a drink, but one look at the bottles around her was enough to make her stomach turn.

 _Why don't we keep water in the cellar?_ The vampire ruminated with annoyance, pushing herself to a sitting position, cursing when a wooden splinter lodged itself between her fingers. She choked with something between a belch and a hiccup. Her esophagus burned with reflux. She placed her hand over her sternum and rubbed slow circles –

 _Thump-thump._

Serana froze. Slowly, her fingers trembling, she moved her palm slightly to the left, and sure enough, there it was, so close she could feel it under her skin –

 _Thump-thump._

She closed her eyes and took one long, deep breath. Her extremities felt a few degrees too cold.

 _Oh gods please, not this again._

 _Thump-thump_ , her heart replied, and she pulled her hand away, distress squeezing at her insides, the nausea returning tenfold.

 _worthless._

The tone was different from the irksome blabber from before. This was more of a prolonged hiss, cruel and deliberate. Her breath hitched and she gritted her teeth. Her heart reacted to the jeer, picking up its pace, and the feeling was at the same time so familiar and so foreign she almost retched.

 _stupid. monster._

A wave of anguish crossed Serana's spine, and she shivered. She hugged her knees and rested her chin on top of them, digging each finger hard on the opposite forearm, counting odd numbers out loud. It was hard to stop herself from hyperventilating. She could see her short breaths condensing when she exhaled, and whichever part of her was still attached to reality reminded her that she produced no body heat and that made no sense.

 _coming to get you coming to get you coming to get you they're coming to getyoutogetyoutogetyou_

 _worthless. failure. beast._

The voices overlapped, yet she could somehow still understand each of them perfectly. She covered her ears with her palms, her nails leaving gashes on her scalp, her fingers pressing tight against her sharp piercings until the skin broke.

She knew it was pointless.

 _pointless pointless pointless pointless_ _coming for you they're coming for you coming coming coming_

 _take your heart take your body take your heart take your body_

"Goway" she mustered, and even that single slurred word took from her way more energy than she could spare. Her heart beat and it beat and it beat –

Something brushed against her nape. Gasping, she straightened her spine and backed against a wall, eyes darting around the room.

Nothing.

 _they're here they're here they're here here here here_

She clenched her hands into fists, trying and failing to keep the whole room under her stare. On the far back, near the cellar door, something moved. Something lurked. Her pulse roared in her ears, loud enough to drown her thoughts, not loud enough to silence the Voices.

Movement. Too fast for her eyes to keep up. Here, now there – her hand darted to the side and she pulled free one of the nearby bottles, clutching it dangerously tight. _Thump-thump_ went her heart, faster and faster until she felt she would burst from inside; on the corner of her vision, they moved and crawled and crept.

She wanted to scream, yet she had no voice.

And then the bottle was out of her hands, flung across the room, exploding against the cellar hatch. Glass rained down on the wooden boards, glass and red liquid, splotching the trapdoor and the walls and the floor. She regretted it an instant later, when the scent of blood assaulted her nose, making her fangs slide out on reflex.

She tried to sheathe them back in, but couldn't.

The Voices laughed.

 _you asked for it_

"No." She retorted, pressing her palm against her nose, trying to block out the scent.

 _Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster._

 _asked for it begged for it liked it_

"No!"

Sharpness began to fade from her vision, the objects losing their edges. The lines and the colors melded together, warping and bending, forming a surreal picture. The shadows, as if liquid, flowed from their proper places and pooled together in one single twisted mass.

 _they've come for your heart come for your heart come for your heart_

 _Filthy. Whore. Bitch._

The shadows shifted and changed, taking shape. She was staring at a distorted version of her father, his eye sockets empty, his facial features twisted past recognizable. The ears were slanted back and the nose was batlike; the fangs were too long and protruded from between his lips; on his back, skeletal wings were attached.

 _Slut. Cunt. Worm._

Shifted, and she was staring at the bestial form of Molag Bal himself. Tendrils of shadows extended from its feet, and it inched closer and closer in perfect synch with every _thump-thump_ inside her. She had the irrational thought that if she could only slow her heartbeats, she could be safe a while longer –

 _Bringing it upon yourself again. Your fault. Want it. Like it._

 _This is not real_ , she told herself. _It's all in your head –_

 _in your head in your head in your head whacko freak freak freak freak_

Closer and closer the beast in the shadows. Serana slammed her eyes shut, vaguely aware of her own muted sobs, hugging herself. She felt something touch her. Didn't open her eyes. The feeling intensified and multiplied, things crawling and rubbing and slicing against her skin, cutting and licking, touching and touching and touching –

"Nononono –" she slapped herself, trying to shake them off, eyes closed, the sensations piling up way past unbearable – "No!"

She opened her eyes and found herself mere inches away from her own bestial reflex. Stared into haunted bloodshot eyes, hers but not hers, heavy brows and horns bulging from the forehead. The not-Serana extended one long clawed hand, agonizingly slowly, index finger pointed towards her heart.

 _here for your heart your heart your heart heart heart_

She tried to back away, but there was nowhere to escape to. Grasping, reaching wildly, her hands came upon a discarded empty bottle on the floor. Holding it by the neck, she hit it against the ground, shattering the glass into pieces. Closer and closer was the beast, and then it was all of them at once – her father, the Prince, herself.

She pointed the sharp end of the glass at them in a vague, hopeless threat. They didn't stop, nearing until she could hear their breathing, until she could smell their acrid scent of death. She tried to hit them, but the bottle passed clean through, and then their hand twisted into a claw that crawled towards her chest –

 _Thump-thump._

Serana shifted, pressed the broken bottle against her throat instead, and with a single smooth movement, slit her own neck open.

* * *

"Ow! Owowowow!" Agmaer complained. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Embla used the tweezers to pull free the last of the stitches in the blonde's cheek. "Ow -!"

"It doesn't actually hurt to take them out, you know," she mumbled, putting her tools away and leaning closer to examine the scar. She rubbed her thumb against the tissue to check if the borders had closed properly.

"It sure isn't pleasant either!"

"Well you should have thought about that _before_ running into trouble face-first," she snapped back. She rubbed some herb oil over the wound to speed up recovery, then stared back to look at her handiwork.

"It'll leave a scar," Embla concluded, slightly irked.

"It will?" Agmaer perked up, not even bothering to hide his excitement.

"Yes, Agmaer, a very ugly, very manly scar," She crossed her arms, tone utterly serious, even though in reality what she expected was more of a thin faded line that would grow imperceptible with time.

"Awesome!" the other exclaimed, then cleared his throat. "I meant, awful! Oh gods, I hope it won't affect my chances with the ladies –" he paused. "You don't think it will, do you?" he finished, his tone uncertain.

 _One decade of medical school for this,_ she thought, _Deep breaths, Embla, deep breaths._

"I'm sure they won't mind," she answered, moving to the corner of the room to feed her newly arrived lab mice. _No,_ she had told Isran, she could _not_ see her patients in the lab. The leader had, after much complaining, given her a second chamber to work on. Ideally, she wouldn't have to keep her experiments on her attending room, but the lab was not a friendly environment for the rodents either, what with all the machinery, so she had to make-do.

"Great!" the other babbled. "Because I'm starting to think Ingjard has a thing for me –"

She didn't, but Embla wasn't going to be the one to tell him that. "Mmmhm –"

"What about you and Sorine though?"

She lifted her head from her cage of mice to look at the blonde. "What about us?"

Agmaer jumped off from the bed and started to put his shoes back on. "Well, you know… everyone's talking. You two make a nice pair. And she's leaving tomorrow. So this might be your last chance. Well. I mean. If you're interested."

 _Right,_ Embla looked at the papers on her desk, discreetly pushing them aside even though she knew Agmaer couldn't read. "She's a friend. And I'm sure she has a lot on her mind right now."

"Do you know where she's going?" He asked, tying his shoelaces. "She wouldn't tell any of us, but you're closer."

 _She's going to science her way through the university of Alinor,_ Embla thought, satisfied with the way things were turning out. The Thalmor was quick enough to grant her passport and the University was immediately captivated by whatever papers she'd sent. Sorine was bound to have a good time there, she was certain, and Alinor would benefit from it immensely.

"That's not an appropriate question," she chided. "What if I do know? How do you think she would feel if I went around telling people? Your question puts me on a tight spot."

Agmaer blinked, his cheeks turning pink. "Right. Um. Yeah. I'm – I'm sorry."

Embla crossed her arms, scoffed, then shook her head. "It's fine. Just giving you a pointer. Sorine wouldn't leave if it wasn't important. It's up to us to respect that choice even if we don't understand it."

"Okay," he nodded, sheepish, and this time she couldn't resist a smile.

"I'm sure she'll keep in touch," Embla reassured, making a mental note to remind Sorine to write the boy. She was certain _she_ would get letters – or so she damn well expected – but Agmaer was the soft and sensitive kid of the bunch, and he'd be overjoyed to get letters. "Now if you'll excuse me, my mice need –"

She was cut short by the ringing of the alarm bells that signaled the fort was under attack. Embla jumped to her feet; Agmaer was already reaching for the crossbow strapped to his back and making his way to the door. The blonde hesitated for a second, turning to face her.

"Go!" she ordered. "I'll grab my things and take my position, go, go!"

She had very strict orders to arm herself but not join the front lines of any given battle, orders based on the simple logic that if the medic died, there would be no one to tend to the wounded. She finished packing her supplies and reached behind the door, where her bow hung. Swinging it over her shoulder, she made her way downstairs.

And then the castle was shook by a roar that rattled her very bones, and she suddenly knew _exactly_ what was happening. Something cold gripped her heart as she rushed her way down the staircase to the pandemonium below.

She reached the ground floor and looked outside, where the members of the Dawnguard were scurrying around the fields, crossbows in hands. They were hit by another deafening roar, the acoustics of the castle making it ring.

Embla looked up, heart racing –

Just in time to see a dragon sweep down from the skies.

She knew what came next, of course, and she barely had time to duck behind the heavy stone door before a river of fire rolled in. She shielded her eyes and stepped away from the unbearable wave of heat, cursing. She counted to five after the flames had stopped, then leaned to the side and took a peek outside. The beast roared.

 _It's not the same one,_ she thought incoherently, even though she had barely seen flashes of its wings. _It's not the same one because his Voice is not the same –_

"Get inside!" Isran commanded, before immediately doing the opposite of what he had ordered and running outside to drag a wounded recruit.

The Dawnguard members took cover behind whatever they could find; in the distance, she could see the archery range burn. Durak yelled indistinguishable commands, directing formations with gestures of his hands. The soldiers scurried around, but she could see even the orc was completely lost on what to do. Here and there, a crossbow shot was fired, though if the dragon was hit by any, it didn't show. It was no wonder they were so scattered - they were trained to fight vampires, not dragons.

 _And they took me off the fucking dragon case,_ Embla skidded across the hall towards Isran and the recruit. _Good to see they're handling it so well._

She met the orc halfway, taking part of the weight on her shoulders. The smell of burnt flesh assaulted her nose. She held her breath as she helped carry the woman the last few meters to the center of the hall. Letting go of her for a moment, she ran to her bag, pulled out a white sheet and extended it on the ground, and then she had Mogrul lay her down on top of it.

She exchanged a few words with the orc on the rush before letting him run back to the field of battle, then ran her hands through her hair anxiously, tying it back into a sloppy bun and assessing the patient. She was one of the newest recruits, Tilde, still ungraduated; she hadn't really gotten to know her yet. She knelt by her side to take a closer look, already shuffling through her bag for tools.

 _There's the fucking challenge you like so much._

"Okay," she mumbled to herself. "Okay, okay. First things first – vitals."

Embla fished a flask of alcohol from her materials and spilled some on her hands, rubbing them against one another. Tilde was unconscious and that was a bad sign. Moving so that she faced the woman's head, she looked for signs of airway obstruction. A burn extended from ear to lip, covering almost all the left side of her face, charring her nostrils and neck. She checked the thorax for breathing and could only see the short rising and falling movements on one side. On the other – she winced slightly at the sight – armor and skin had fused together in one single blackened mass.

 _Too complex, too complex – focus. Heart. Airway. Breathing._

The thin pulse told her the heart was beating, though she wasn't sure for how much longer. She had to liberate the airways. With as much delicacy as she could muster, she pressed her fingers against the woman's lips and pulled them apart. She was only partly successful – the burnt side of the mouth had fused together and refused to open. Embla reached for the scalpel and cut. Immediately, her hands grew damp with a mixture of blood and clear liquid from the blisters, but the flow was stopped short by the magical healing energy dribbling from her fingertips. New, pinkish skin erupted from where her hands touched wounded flesh, painting a bizarre mosaic on the face.

The cardinal rule of restoration magic was that the body healed itself; the magician's job was only to trigger and guide the process. Because of that, one could never demand from a body more than it could give, and in cases as grave as the one Embla had in hands, she knew the usage of spells should be kept to a minimum, for as easily as they induced regeneration, they could end up draining the victim to death instead.

Parting the lips open, she pushed the jaw down as much as the skin would allow and gently pushed the tongue out of the way. The whistling of the woman's breath turned into a wheeze, and Embla allowed herself some pause. Wiping her hands and the victim's face with a piece of cloth, she ran his fingers over her throat, assessing the depth of the burn. Considering how much to the side it laid, she thought it unlikely that the fire had damaged the trachea, but if she'd breathed in hot air, there could be inner burns that would impair breathing.

Embla quickly pondered on how to proceed. While she didn't want to spend time and energy healing non-essential tissues, particularly considering how much the torso would demand of her, she had to make sure the woman could breathe. She rolled the scalpel between her index finger and thumb. The human throat was an entangled mess of blood vessels, nerves and muscle that she didn't quite feel confident to cut into.

Outside, men screamed, horses neighed, the beast roared, the noise of crackling fire echoed. She closed her eyes and told herself to focus. It could be that the throat would swell later and obstruct the trachea, but for the moment enough air seemed to pass, so she chose to leave it be. Examining the destroyed armor, she put down the delicate surgical blade and holding her dagger instead, sliced free what remained of the leather strips that bound the suit together, then carefully applied upwards force on the breastplate, pulling it away from the skin millimeter by millimeter –

 _Oh gods the smell –_

Back with the scalpel, separating skin from metal, freeing space for the lungs to expand. She had to be careful not to cut too deep, else she'd puncture the delicate sack that covered the lungs, causing them to collapse. Every time she burst a blister or cut through a vessel, she'd immediately heal the spot with quick bursts of magic to prevent more liquid loss. Where the burnt flesh was so stiff it impaired the breathing movements, she had to make very gentle incisions to recover flexibility. Her progress was excruciatingly slow, and she knew it could take her hours to finally get the woman's health stable.

Among the harshness of the work, she barely noticed when one of the screaming voices got louder and closer, and only when she was tapped on the shoulder she looked up to see she had someone else to aid – Durak had just been dragged in and he was screaming his lungs out. It took Embla less than a second to spot the reason: on his leg, which bled profusely, a piece of bone poked out. She flinched at the wound, her mind racing. Though magic could fix the lacerations the orc displayed over his body, she'd still have to realign the bone fragments manually, push them back into the thigh and stitch the cuts, else he could go into shock from blood loss.

That would take her time – twenty, thirty minutes – time that Tilde did not have. Her hand resting over her throat, she knew her pulse was getting weaker by the second. Yet if Durak's wound had hit the femoral artery, which was possible considering the fracture site, then he could bleed out really quick.

 _If you must choose, choose the one more likely to live,_ the voice of her professors echoed in her head.

Cursing, closing her hand into a fist, she wiped her brow with the soft part of her arm, dissipated the Healing Hands spell she'd been manipulating, and reached for her bag, pulling out a small glass flask filled with ochre. Spilling some of the yellow dust on top of her palm, she mixed it with a couple drops of alcohol and then used her index finger to paint a rune on the woman's forehead.

She muttered a spell and the mark seemed to sink into the skin, changing color to a reddish hue. She pressed her index and middle fingers against the right side of her throat, and as she watched, the sign started to pulse in almost perfect synch with the vibrations she felt under her fingertips.

There were no other effects immediately visible, but she knew the enchantment would work its magic and slowly, evenly heal the woman over. It wasn't the ideal, vitals-centered restoration that should be done in this situation, but she hoped it would make do for long enough that she could check Durak over.

Another deep breath. She stood.

"Okay," she repeated. "Okay, okay. I got this."

Wiping her hands and once more washing them with alcohol, she ran off to where the orc had been placed, his back leaning against a pillar. The long femur bone had broken near the hip, and bright crimson blood flowed from the cut in jets. Back with the Healing Hands energy twirling between her fingers, she moved quickly to stop the flow, barely aware of the hall getting crowded with more and more soldiers. With a pair of tweezers, she pulled apart the splinters and dirt that had lodged on the wound, cleaning it as best as she could.

"I need someone to –" her voice was drowned out by the loud slamming of the stone doors, followed by the sound of thick wooden bars being dropped across it. The green of Durak's skin was a few shades too light, and the orc had stopped moving as best as he could and was bravely still. Embla's speech had caught the orc's attention and he grunted, trying sit up straight. The orc's eyes were wide, his face sticky with cold sweat, and she stopped his movements by gently placing a hand on his shoulders.

She turned back for a moment and scanned the room, until she managed to make eye contact with someone – Ingjard, looking ragged and tired. She motioned with her chin for her to come over and soon enough she knelt next to him.

"Valenwood," her voice was strained. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to hold him down," she explained. "By the shoulders; just hold him still for a moment. Durak –" she faced the orc. "On the count of three, I'm going to try to traction the bone back in. I'm going to put my hands right here –" Embla hooked a palm behind the knee and the other under the lower thigh. "- and I'm going to pull. Ready?"

A curt nod. Embla tensed her shoulder muscles and prepared. "One. Two –"

There was a furious yell when she yanked the leg back with all her might, the bone snapping back into place. Durak twitched so hard, he'd surely have dislodged the bone further if Ingjard hadn't been holding him down. As it was, she was thrown back by his movement, falling on her butt.

"Three! Three!" Durak yelled. "You said the count of three, you knife-eared daughter of a –"

"Don't be a baby," she snapped. "It had to be unexpected; I needed your muscles relaxed." She turned back to Ingjard. "I need something to make a cast and immobilize his leg. A broomstick or a sword would do. And strips of clean cloth – there's a lot of it on my drawers back in the lab."

"I got it," the woman nodded, standing up. "Be right back." She bolted upstairs.

"Durak," she continued once the other had left. She pulled the skin together and closed the wound, using stitches and resorting to magic where the gap between the skin flaps was too wide. "How're you holding up?"

The orc grunted something unintelligible. Embla pressed her lips together, her fingers moving so fast they were a blur. "Stand still for a while. Ingjard will soon be back and I'll bandage you up, but I need to check on –"

"Oi, Embla!" Agmaer yelled from the middle of the room. "Your thing is doing something – I, uuh, I – don't think it's supposed to do that –"

 _Shit._

"Don't. Move." She exchanged one last look with Durak, and the orc nodded. Dashing, she skidded down next to Tilde, sliding on her knees so that she was next to her face. On her forehead, the rune she'd drawn had gone from reddish to bright yellow and was flickering unstably. She pressed her fingers against Tilde's throat and found no pulse. Cursing profusely, she pulled the sleeves of her coat back to the elbows and interlaced her fingers, then placed them on top of the woman's sternum and started pumping down. She knew after the third or fourth push that her massage was ineffective; the stiff armor pieces interfered and didn't let the chest be compressed.

 _I need to shock her but with this much metal –_

Her lips started turning blue.

 _Auri-el have mercy._

"Get away," she barked out, and Agmaer backpedaled. The rune shimmered. Taking a deep breath, she straddled her and pressed her thumb under the woman's right collarbone. With the other hand, she extended her index and middle fingers and rested them sideways on the chest, slightly below the nipple. Embla took a deep breath, charged up a spell of Sparks and braced herself.

 _Oh, this is going to hurt._

She felt the magicka leave her body and be converted into electricity – and then Tilde convulsed, her back arching and members twitching. A second later, the armor pieces lodged in her chest exploded into smoke. The smell of burnt flesh once more filled the air, and Embla registered pain on her palms where the metal had heated up. The tips of her white coat were smoldering. Coughing, waving the smoke away, her hands charred and hurting, she watched the rune go out completely –

And return, its color back to the red tone of before. She released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. The rune pulsed.

Once.

Twice.

The red abruptly flickered again, this time turning into black pigment. It lasted for two seconds, then melted into the skin and didn't return. Embla leaned forward and looked for a pulse, but the wounds in her hands made it impossible to feel anything, and she knew she'd find none. She let her arms fall limp, made herself move away from her.

"Dead," she said, jolts of pain shooting up her arm, and what a rookie mistake that had been – investing too much in a hopeless patient, refusing to let go in a situation where she would be needed in her best state –

 _I'm out of practice,_ she concluded. _I've been working with bureaucracy for too long._

"Dead," she declared, and it was only when her voice broke that she noticed the dampness on her cheeks. She felt hands on her shoulders – Agmaer, ever supportive – that helped her up and brought her into an awkward hug. Words were spoken but she found it hard to pay attention.

 _Out of practice,_ she repeated. _Dangerously out of practice._

She spotted Ingjard reentering the room, and on the back of her mind, she found the strength to spring back into action. She cast Healing Hands again, this time for herself, and watched the bumps on her palms melt back into the skin; the burn was deep and extensive enough that she felt quite a considerable drop of energy, which only made her angry at herself again.

She ran back to where Durak laid. The orc gave her a sympathetic look but let her work in silence, and within another ten minutes, she was done wrapping the broken leg around with cloth, binding it and keeping it extended with the bandages.

When Embla looked back to the room, she found many wounded faces and a _lot_ of work to be done. She noticed that Isran had been watching her, waiting for him to be done. Taking a deep breath, she gave the Dawnguard leader a briefing.

"Durak's state is stable, but he won't be fighting anytime soon. I lost Tilde – her burns were too bad. Other members in the hall seem to need stitches and have burns to be tended to; I'll address them now."

"Do any need your immediate attention?" Isran queried.

"Everyone at the same time, if I had to guess." She pinched the bridge of her nose, paused for a second to rescan the room. Most of the members were sporting some shape of burn, but she saw none with immediately life-threatening wounds. "At first glance, I see no other urgencies. Any of them could get unstable really quick, though."

"They'll have to wait. Sorine needs your assistance in the laboratory to devise –"

A loud crashing sound drowned the ending of the sentence, followed by a roar. The room shook and a thin cloud of dust descended from the roof, coming off as waterfalls of sand where the stone had cracked. Embla grimaced and covered her ears when the beast let out another screech, and then, bizarrely enough, a word.

 _"Dovahkiin."_

The word struck her like thunder, and she shivered, her heart picking up speed.

 _What the fuck –_

Isran pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. " – to devise a way to deal with that." The man finished. "We can't beat it as it is, and for some reason it refuses to leave."

She looked up at the roof and wondered how much a dragon weighted and for how long the old stone structure would hold. The worried faces around the room told her the soldiers were asking themselves the same question. She could hear the profoundly unsettling sound of the creature walking on top of the Fort's arches.

"I'll be on my way."

She found Sorine dashing between three experiment tables, at least one of which was steaming. Tossing her destroyed coat to the side and grabbing another from the rack near the door, she joined her on her flurry, immediately being handed a flask with bubbling liquid. She held on to it for about fifteen seconds before Sorine took it back from her hands, twirled away and spilled the contents into a pot.

"What do you need me for, tinkerer?"

"Grab me that glass over there - yes, that one; good, now light up that fire, will you?"

She snapped her fingers and a flame flickered into existence under the pot. Tilting her head, she stepped closer to the middle worktable to peek – only to be pushed back by the Breton.

"Nuh-uh-uh. Step back, Valenwood, that's volatile. Pass the vial with the green cork – careful, it's acid."

She did as she was told, being extra careful with her fingertips. Sorine pulled on the vial's plug twice, and when it refused to come off, she hit the glass tube on the side of the pan and cracked it like one would crack an egg. The acid hit the solution with a hiss, and Sorine tossed the broken glass into a trash box. She stared at the whatever-it-was for a good five seconds, then stepped back.

"Whew, I'm glad our heads are still on our shoulders. Let's hope it remains that way for the next ten minutes while this thing gets ready."

 _And that is why Isran didn't send anyone else here,_ she realized.

"Very comforting. So, what's the plan?"

She wasn't truly aware of how weak she felt until she allowed herself to take a seat. As soon as the familiarity and comfort of her chair and her lab washed over her, her legs felt wobbly and she suddenly wasn't so sure she'd have the strength to stand up again.

"Boom! Boom is the plan. Swords are no good because it's impossible to hit; crossbow bolts are no good because with that thick scaly skin they just don't land a scratch. The solution for a very large winged lizard is a very large boom. Are you alright, Valenwood? You're looking pale."

She covered his face with her palm, feeling slightly ill. "Downstairs' a mess. Lots of wounded, burnt – I'll be needing a ton of balms and oils. Durak's got his leg broken so bad he'll probably have a limp for the rest of his life. Tilde didn't make it, and I overextended myself trying to save her. Stupid mistake."

"Oh." Sorine pushed the ground with her feet and her chair rolled closer until it bumped Embla's. "I'm so sorry. I… didn't know her very well, but I'm sure you did your best… hey."

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Sorine landed her a punch on the shoulder, and she cracked a half smile in response. "I'll be okay. I _am_ an army medic, after all." She exhaled in a deep sigh. "It had just been a while since I dealt with this. Tell me about your newest trinket."

Sorine's eyes twinkled and she turned to the boiling liquid. "Remember when that armored troll died and you gathered all its fat in a jar and had me mix it with lavender to make soap from it?"

"…you made explosives with it instead? Typical. That's got to be why I didn't notice improvements in the body odor situation."

"Something like that, yeah." Sorine grinned, then stood up and blew off the fire that heated the pan. She picked up a wooden spoon and carefully scooped up a paste from the bottom. "There we have it."

Embla eyed the substance with interest.

"Mmmh. How volatile are we talking about here?"

"…do not let it fall."

"Oh." She blinked. "So how are you planning to get it to…you know… explode on the dragon's face?"

Sorine opened a drawer and produced a thin, long copper tube. It was hollow in the middle, and she slowly, very carefully filled the cavity with bits of her paste. "I got my ballista working."

"Oh, hey. You didn't even invite me to test it."

Sorine pulled a large arrowtip from the same drawer and screwed it on top of the tube until it clicked. Then she held the projectile with both hands and lifted it up for her to see.

"I haven't had time to test it, really, what with the move and all."

"Of course," Embla rubbed her temples, Sorine's move feeling like a thousand years away. "Wait. But if you haven't tested it then how do you know it's working?"

"You'll just gonna have to trust me," She winked. "We get one shot. Large explosion. And I mean _huge._ "

She scratched her head. Sorine was a science person like herself, and science people were curious, inquisitive people. Sorine was likely to have ideas –

"Septim for your thoughts?"

"Confession time," Embla leaned back against her chair. "Not the first time I see a dragon."

"You're shitting me." Sorine gaped. "You were in Helgen?"

She lifted her index, middle and ring fingers. "Three survivors. Me, a rebel lieutenant, and Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Of course Ulfric Stormcloak. What the hell were you even doing there?"

"Thalmor business," She admitted. "Well, sort of. I'd been leading a small band of Khajiiti for a couple months or so; my job was to scout the land and occasionally take down a few supply shipments with guerrilla tactics. They contacted me saying they needed my expertise to spring a trap, so I helped them plan an ambush. I had no idea."

"Holy Talos," Sorine muttered, handing her the arrow. Embla took it with the delicateness of someone holding – well, holding very lethal explosives. "And then what?"

"We got him. His head was destined to the chopping block when the dragon arrived."

"Same dragon?" Sorine knelt next to the ballista, grabbing a large metal plaque and placing it so that it covered the cogs and gears. She began tightening bolts to fix it in place.

"No, different one," she replied with absolute certainty. "His voice –" she cut herself short, realizing how crazy it would sound.

"His voice?" Sorine pressed, and Embla sighed.

"It's different. This will sound insane but Sorine, I think – I think it may be after me."

"Well you're right – it does sound insane. But I've learned to trust my hunches, and I've learned to trust you, so if that's your hunch, Valenwood, then I'll humor it. It's possible. That's a rational creature out there. Rational and _smart._ The way it doesn't land, the way it's sitting, waiting us out, that's all so deliberate."

"I thought I heard it speak… earlier on." She muttered.

"What's it say?"

" _Dovahkiin._ " The word rolled off her tongue with strange ease, and she frowned.

Sorine tilted her head. "Interesting…interesting. Dovah – that's, hmmm, that's 'dragon' in dragon actually. I don't know enough about linguistics to tell you what the whole thing could mean, though. We should get moving – before it outsmarts us, eh?"

She stood and snatched the arrow from Embla's hands. "Help me move this thing downstairs," Sorine said, then held the projectile between her teeth and grabbed one side of the ballista.

"Are you sure you should –"

"Mmmmmf," she grunted.

"All right, all right."

She stood up and had to steady herself against the table, feeling dizzy. Her vision darkened for a second, and Sorine took a step forward to help her. She stopped her by raising her palm and backing away.

"Nonono – by the light of Auri-el, Sorine, mind your explosive. I'll just –" she walked over to her cabinet and opened it, proceeding to grab a green vial from a row of bottles. It had a label with 'stamina' scrawled hastily on it. " – just have one of those stimulants we make for the soldiers and I'll be peachy."

 _This is a bad idea,_ she thought, then took the drink with one long gulp. The taste on her mouth was bitter. She used to take them every now and then, particularly during college or in the Thalmor when she had to pull all night shifts. They never sat well in her stomach.

The effect was almost immediate – her heart rate sped up just as everything around her seemed to slow down. She blinked, things looking abruptly very sharp. She shook her head to clear it, squeezing her eyes together, rubbing her scalp with both hands.

"Woah." She looked at her hands and they were twitching without command. She could hear her own breathing, short and fast, together with the loud thudding of her heart. "Wooo-oooah. Sheesh. Maybe I should have taken it slowly. Okay, let's –" She moved to the free size of the large ballista in what felt like one single hop and leaned against it, testing the weight with a push of her shoulder. It rolled with ease. "Let's do this."

They made their way to the main hall, soldiers stepping in to help her drag the ballista down the stairs. She let them take the full weight on the last dozen steps; her mouth was dry and when she touched her lips with her thumb, they felt too warm. She could feel the beginnings of a headache throb. Agitated, she made his way down, two steps at a time.

She stood next to Sorine, hopping from foot to foot while the woman explained their plan.

" – you lure out the dragon. I'll have to shoot from the door, while it's distracted – I'm quite certain it's smart enough that it knows it should avoid big arrows. What it doesn't know is the little kick I've added to this thing. And by that I mean –" she made a circular gesture with her open hand. "Boom."

"Boom," Embla repeated, mimicking her.

Isran slowly turned his head to the side and arched an eyebrow at her. "Are you okay?"

"I feel great!"

The man faced Sorine instead. She waved it off. "Valenwood got a taste of stimulants. She'll be a little…eccentric for a while."

"Great. Just great. A gods damned dragon. A pyromaniac scientist. A completely high medic –"

"Lay off her, Isran, she couldn't _stand,_ " Sorine snapped. "Now, we need –"

She couldn't hear her anymore. Her mouth was moving, sure, and she knew there should be sounds, but suddenly they weren't making any sense to her brain. She took a step back, touched her temples with is index and middle fingers, stared at her hands as if they were something from another world. Things shimmered, and a low hum hissed its way into her ears.

" – never seen that reaction before –" Isran's voice rumbled.

" – don't think that's supposed to happen, no –" Sorine, with clear concern. " – take her to have a seat –"

 _This isn't just the drug,_ she realized. _Something else is going on here._

Hands on her shoulder, grabbing her, pulling her away, pushing her down to the floor. She sat on the ground though she felt like running; and then, abruptly, the buzzing on her head got louder and turned into _actual_ drumming – and voices. Talking, singing voices.

 _dovahkiin dovahkiin naal ok zin los vahriin_

 _I'm having… a stimulant-induced delirium?_

The stone doors being pushed open. People running out. Screams, screeches. Her stomach turned. She tugged on her sleeves, on her collar, tried to get the coat off, yanked the buttons. Her hands were damp with cold sweat. She opened and closed them until her tendons ached.

 _wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal_

"Ahrk f-f-fin norok paal graan –" she babbled, hugging herself, digging her fingers against her forearms. " – fod nust hon zindro zaan –"

She stumbled to her feet, lacking balance. It was hard to walk but she couldn't bear to stand still. The colors, the sound – the world seemed off. Outside, fire and smoke. Flashes of wings. Sorine and Beleval together, aiming the ballista. Isran led the soldiers to the left, Agmaer leading a second group to the right.

 _dovahkiin fah hin kogaan mu draal_

 _dovahkiin dovahkiin_

The voices multiplied, droning out every other sound, building up her own personal choir. The dragon roared. Crossbow bolts being fired with multiple clangs. It circled around, but refused to land, diving down to spew fire every once in a while.

 _huzrah nu kul do od wah aan bok lingrah vod_

 _dovahkiin dovahkiin_

 _It's after me, s_ he realized with absolute certainty. _It won't land unless I go out._

She paused, though about how insane all that was, burst out laughing hysterically and then told herself it was surely the drug paranoia talking. Except it didn't _feel_ insane, and she was far too restless for her rational side to win this struggle. She made her way to the door, the voices louder with each step, certain that she could make the dragon land if only – if only –

She was by the doorframe, the world a blur; things slowed and things sped in a pace so sickening she felt the urge to hurl. She looked up to the skies, followed the dragon with her eyes, feeling something within her change, something stir, unfamiliar feelings bubbling up within her.

 _ahrk fin tey boziik fun do fin gein_

Anger, something foreign to the quietude of her being, fury like she hadn't felt in years, a burning rage of the same kind that led her to leave behind Valenwood and make her way on foot to Alinor. Anger at the voices singing in her head, anger at herself for taking the stimulants on first place, but mostly blind hatred directed towards the beast that attacked from above, for the lives it had taken –

 _wo lost fron wah ney dov ahrk fin reyliik do jul_

And for its claws and its teeth and its wings, because _how dare it –_

 _How dare it fly so free when I cannot –_

"Hey. Hey!" She yelled, taking a step forward, a veil of red fogging her vision. "You want your _fucking Dovahkiin,_ yeah? _Krosis!_ You want your fucking –"

Hands around her waist, being dragged back inside against her will, people cursing her entire family line –

 _I'm out of my mind._

But it had worked. It had _worked_. Her words had, as if by miracle, grabbed the dragon's attention, and seeing her be brought back indoors was the last straw for the beast that had been waiting for so long. The dragon roared, target in mind, and then finally, _finally,_ after slowing down yet again to barbecue them, its feet touched the ground and it landed heavily, making the earth shake. The Dawnguard soldiers didn't waste a second, circling it.

It turned to face her, and their eyes met for a brief second – enough to make her furious again, enough to trigger another rage. Struggling against the men who dragged her, she was vaguely aware of her own voice shouting out curses, swear words in a language she had no means of knowing yet felt painfully familiar and right on her lips.

"Clear the line!" Sorine's voice registered, and she was so used to heeding her warnings she threw herself to the side despite her frenzy.

She landed hard on her side, knocking the breath out of her, and saw a distinct expression of comprehension cross the dragon's face when it saw the ballista. It opened its wings to take to the skies again, shaking soldiers off its back, wings and tail. The Dawnguard members let themselves be thrown, rolling out of the way, already aware of what was coming, all but Agmaer, who clung stubbornly to one of the spikes in the dragon's back.

"Clear the line!" Sorinerepeated.

Agmaer stuck his blade time and again on the beast's wings, trying to find a weak spot between the scales. Irritated, it stood on its hind legs, flapping, twitching sideways, and yet the blonde wouldn't let go.

"Shoot!" Isran yelled from the battlefield. "Shoot, shoot, shoot!"

The snapping and clacking of machinery that released enormous tension, the whoosh of the arrow cutting the air; the ire in the dragon's face turned to understanding, and when it realized the arrow would be unavoidable, it lifted its tail on the air in order to intercept it on the hard scales. Embla rolled belly down, closed her eyes and covered her ears, protecting her face with his elbows –

'Boom' did not quite cover what happened next. People would later report that the explosion on that day could be heard all the way to Riften. She did not look at the blast, but she could not avoid the shockwave of hot air that picked her off the floor and sent her flying across the room like a doll made of straw. She managed to cast a ward to lessen the blow, which was the only thing that prevented her back from snapping when it hit the wall. Had she not been completely deafened by the detonation, she would have heard her own ribs cracking.

The pain was night-on unbearable, but either the stimulants or the adrenaline, perhaps both, prevented her from blacking out. Her coat was completely gone and so was the part of her tunic that used to cover her back, her skin reddened, bleeding from dozens of cuts made by debris. She laid in the ground for what felt like ages, coughing out dust and wincing at how much it hurt to do so, too overwhelmed to even move, and yet when the dust settled and she could see again, she found she was the first to stand.

Embla took hesitant steps towards the pile of rubble that was once the entrance. She crossed Sorine on her way, unconscious, bleeding from a deep cut on her forehead. She promised herself she would tend to her, would tend to all of them, but she couldn't do that yet, because _first._ First, she had to see. She climbed the debris with as much difficulty as one would climb the Throat of the World, and then she rolled rather than descended to the earth outside.

The dragon – or what remained of it –laid there, a crater around it, and only upon seeing it Embla could finally understand the magnitude of the blast. The tail, which had been used to block the blow, was completely gone – scales, muscles, bones, all vanished without a single trace. A side of the dragon's face had disappeared with it, and almost a third of the skull was missing. No jaws, no tongue. What remained of it had been stripped down to blackened bone, save for a single eye still on the socket, one bare horn above it. The hind legs – gone. The bottom part of the torso – gone. One of the wings – completely gone. There were no comprehensive innards on the exposed abdomen, only pure charcoal. She was seeing, at most, half a dragon.

Holding onto her pained ribs, she slid down towards the gruesome scene, not sure she'd be able to climb out of the hole afterwards, refusing to search for any traces of what had become of Agmaer. And then the yellow eye twitched and moved, slit pupils rolling to meet hers, and she realized with horror that _it was still alive_. She stopped in front of it, gaping, torn between feeling anger and feeling pity, and she fell to her knees in front of the eye and stared at it and in silence.

"So you were after me, huh," she muttered, exhausted. "Did that other one send you? The one from Helgen – I'm talking to a dragon," she realized. "And you can't even answer me, can you? You don't even have a jaw anymore. I think you should go," She placed her palm on top of its bloodied nose. "You should go. _Aav Dilon."_

The pupil dilated at the words, and something in the world seemed to shift. The drums on her ears, which had gone silent after the blast, suddenly echoed a single beat, the voices roaring wordlessly, oscillating their tunes between two notes. At first, when she felt air caress her skin, she thought it was just the wind, but one look upon the dragon was enough to tell her something else was happening.

The destroyed body was suddenly complete, whichever was missing substituted for spectral versions made, it seemed, purely of light. Embla stood, took a step back, tripped and fell on her butt, gaping at the half-organic, half ethereal figure in front of him, promising herself to never, _ever_ take stimulants again. And then the solid part of the creature started to dissolve, skin and muscles peeling away and dissipating into cinders that were swept away by the wind. The eye was the last part to disappear, and when it did, all that remained of the dragon was its phantom.

It was hard to look at. Embla knew that ghosts sometimes appeared, blue specters found mostly in tombs that brandished weapons and left behind a trail of ectoplasm. But this, this was something else entirely. She couldn't determine a color for the apparition, whatever it was; rather, it reflected every hue, as if made of an immaterial crystal. The air around it vibrated, filled with a static that made every hair on her body stand on end, humming. For as long as it stood still, Embla held her breath.

And then, like water going down a drain, the figure started losing shape, spiraling into a single funnel of energy whose tip pointed directed at her. An abrupt drop in air pressure made her ears pop.

 _Oh fuck no way –_

Back in Dimhollow cave, magic had leaked into her from her fingers. The sensation was something similar, yet crucially different in scale. Rather than forming tendrils that entered her from a single spot in her body, she was drowned in the magic that penetrated her being by every pore. It was the difference between waking under a drizzle and being thrown without warning in the frozen waters of the Sea of Ghosts.

Her body burned and tingled and itched, all at the same time; she thought she felt her broken bones mend, but couldn't be sure. Sensations washed over her, tastes and smells and colors that she could not name, memories that were completely alien, and her brain struggled to process feelings that had no place in her nature – the exhilaration of taking a wave of hot air on her wings, the raw power of her claws and fangs and the fire in her throat, and conversely, the melancholy of being something eternal.

The last of the soul, for there could be no other name for it, finally entered her body, the end of the funnel hitting her chest, and when it did, she was suspended in time and in space, and she _saw._ Dragged to a place where time had no direction, she saw the past and the future of men and of dragons and of Tamriel itself; she saw what came before and what would come after and couldn't tell them apart; where she was, there were no such distinctions. She saw all those things that were too much for her mind to comprehend, none of which she would later be able to remember or put into words.

 _It's an eye,_ she realized. _The sun is the dragon's eye._

And then she was just herself again, no drugs and dragon souls addling her mind, shaking and dirty and so very tired. The wounds on her body were gone, but she now carried a new one, on her spirit, one her medical knowledge could not reach or even understand, one she didn't think could ever be healed.


	6. Chapter 6

Serana could feel the thin scar tissue on her neck when she woke up, closing at astounding speed, already fading against her fingers. Still as alive and as undead as always, of course – it was naïve to think a being such as her could meet her end at a shard of glass, though it never did stop her from trying.

She hadn't bled out to death, because she had no pulse.

Serana wore her choker to court that day.

 _the pie and the die and the lie and the spy and the cry and the sky_

The mahogany table from Valenwood. Her on one end, her father on the other. Face to face with him, staring at his distant gaze and troubled eyes, she wondered not for the first time if he had Voices of his own, and if he did, what did they tell him. Leaning her elbow on the table, she rested her chin on her palm and divagated in her thoughts.

 _she wonders what are Vingalmo and Orthjolf arguing about now. she thinks lowly of them both._

She bit her bottom lip to make sure her mouth was still shut and eyed her plate blankly. It was merely decorative, of course; much to Serana's distaste food was hardly ever served in Castle Volkihar. Their main courses rested in their goblets, filled and refilled through the night.

Serana looked briefly at her own meal. Her glass was half empty, and she felt she couldn't stomach another drop.

" – take action now and crush them while they're still bugs!" Orthjolf roared, slamming his fist on the table. It made her teeth rattle, and she frowned with annoyance, eyes still at her cup, watching ripples break through the liquid.

 _This is what happens when you don't dispose of a disposable asset,_ She thought, watching him with annoyance. _They start thinking of themselves as essential._

 _she tries to pick up the topic of the conversation so she can put an end to it_

"And I'm telling you it is a pointless waste of energy, because they'll never be anything more than that," Vingalmo answered with spite.

 _she searches the court for a familiar face who can give her some direction_

Her eyes rested at Garan, who looked just as generally exasperated as she did, bless his soul. She arched a quizzical eyebrow at him, gesturing vaguely with her head towards the arguing vampires. The dunmer's lips quirked up in an amused smile, and he mouthed out a single word to her.

 _"Dawnguard."_

Dawnguard, Dawnguard, now where had she heard that before? Frowning, she searched her memory for –

 _the mice and the lice and the spice and the price and the vice_

She searched her memory for –

 _the ball and the fall and the call and the hall and the wall_

She searched her memory for –

 _the race and the face and the place and the grace and the mace_

 _Gods fucking damn it._

She resisted the urge to repeatedly bang her head against the thrice-blasted Valenwood mahogany table. Garan seemed to notice her distress, because he gestured with his fingers, grabbing her attention again. She squinted, focusing to make out his words –

 _bunkers,_ the Voice interjected just as the vampire's lips moved, completely throwing her off the message. She gestured for him to repeat it.

 _jumpers_

She gestured again.

 _rubbers_

And again.

 _panthers_

Serana put her hands over her head and tugged her own hair, unsure whether she should laugh or cry at this tragicomedy. On the corner of her vision, she noticed that save for Orthjolf and Vingalmo, the court had turned their attention to the exchange between Garan and her. She could see Harkon's eyes twinkle with mirth.

Garan paused and showed her both his palms to indicate he'd had an idea. Then he slid his fangs out, baring them, and dragged his index finger across his throat, very slowly mouthing out the word.

 _HUNTERS!_ she finally made out. _Fucking vampire hunters. Of course._

She gave him a thumbs up and a half-smile.

 _she recalls the peculiar young mortal she'd met at the day of her awakening, finally making the right connections_

 _Ohhh._ A suncrest on the armor, digging through a vampire infested cave – that had to be it. No one else but a vampire hunter could fit that particular kind of stupidity.

"Crossed their path once," she voiced, interrupting either Vingalmo or Orthjolf, she didn't particularly care which. "They seemed quite harmless to be honest…?" She trailed off, vaguely remembering the encounter.

"As I was saying," Vingalmo agreed triumphantly. "Pray tell, Lady Serana, how long did it take you to wipe them out?"

 _didn't,_ the Voice answered.

It was only when Orthjolf turned to her with pure scorn that she realized she'd actually said that out loud.

 _Oh by Dagon's holy knickers –_

"And why was that?" the Nord demanded. Serana didn't like his tone.

 _she wasn't sure whether the woman was real or yet another creature in her mind_

 _(like staring at the sun)_

 _Fuck you,_ she thought.

The vampire did her best to keep her face still and her tone nonchalant. She shrugged. "I had better things to do. Places to be. Didn't want to get blood on my clothes. Why bother? That's what _you_ exist for, isn't it, my dearest brutish vassal?"

There was a moment of tense silence on the table. She saw Harkon straighten up slightly, watching the exchange with renewed interest. And then Orthjolf bared his fangs at her. That was an unacceptable show of disrespect. For a moment, even the voice on her mind went still.

 _Kill him._

She dug her nails slightly on the table, tapping her index finger, using her free hand to grab her napkin and delicately wipe her lips.

"I'm sorry, I must have been distracted, I seem to have missed your 'yes, Lady Serana'," she replied, impassive.

"Because I didn't say it."

She grabbed her goblet absently, rolling its neck between her index finger and thumb. She tucked a strand of hair below her ear.

 _Kill him,_ the Voice urged. Her muscles were tense, and she willed them to relax, paying close attention to her breathing.

"Orthjolf," she said in a monotone, looking past him to a point in space, still playing with her glass. "Antagonizing me would be…most unwise." She tilted her head. "I wasn't gone for long enough that you'd have time to forget the treatment due to the Lady of this house."

 _Kill him._

"But you were absent long enough that I wonder why you are the lady of this house on first place," the other spat.

 _Kill him._

She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, body shaking ever so slightly. Every sound in the room seemed to grow distant, until she could hear nothing but the Voice's whispers. Orthjolf was still talking, but she could no longer make out his words. Her eyes met Harkon's, and they exchanged a look of – was it understanding?

 _Kill him._

It didn't matter. She lifted her goblet, stared at her reflection in the glass and couldn't recognize herself. She put it down, feeling slightly nauseous. She felt as if a veil separated her from the world; objects seemed to zoom away and lose focus as if sucked by the horizon, and she remembered thinking it all felt so vertiginous and just so _unreal –_

 _Kill him._

Serana stood, pressed her fingers on her forehead, the space around her dissolving into a blur.

 _Kill him._

She stared, trying to piece together what was going on. A broken chair on her feet. Orthjolf's neck, twisted at an impossible angle. She could see the tip of a fork's handle in his left eyesocket, the other end of the kitchen utensil halfway poking out at the back of his skull, little brain bits stuck between its teeth. Half his jaw had been ripped and hung sustained by the skin flap from the other side, revealing the full length of his tongue, which fell to the side.

There was blood on her hands. She stared at them for a full ten seconds and all she could feel was a gripping exhaustion.

Serana walked back to her chair, grabbed her napkin and wiped herself clean with it. "Vingalmo, take care of this mess, will you?"

The Altmer nodded, his face paler than usual. She took her seat, legs crossed.

"As for the rest of you," she continued, her voice flat, without meeting any of the court member's eyes. She dropped the red-stained piece of cloth on the table and folded her hands together. "Please…know your places."

From the opposite end of the table, without any warning, Harkon laughed.

 _the cat and the rat and the mat and the bat –_

* * *

Embla had a problem. A gigantic, dragon-sized problem.

 _What the fuck am I going to tell the Thalmor?_

She stared at the parchment, the ink and the pen, and sighed. She rested her head on her hands, counted to ten, then stood up and started pacing around the room.

 _Okay,_ she told herself. _Okay. Let's make a list._

Problem number one: she was, apparently, dragonborn.

Embla walked to the door, then back to the table, her hand reflexively going back to the smooth skin on her throat over and over. Embla was a wood elf – a very Valenwoodian, very elven wood elf. Her parents had been wood elves and so had her grandparents and great-grandparents. Her former village laid in the Deep Green, where only _bosmeri_ dared step foot on. She was the picture of a typical Bosmer, so much that whenever she worked around humans, they tended to nickname her "Valenwood".

Embla was, most definitely, a Bosmer. Which brought her to problem number two, which was really just problem number one again: she was dragonborn. And that could not be, because being dragonborn was a human trait, which she was most definitely _not_.

 _There's never been an elven dragonborn,_ she thought, turning on her heels and walking. _Because being dragonborn is a gift from human-god Akatosh, granted to humans so they could free themselves from the enslavement by mer._

Well, that wasn't exactly true. Though Saint Alessia held the title of first dragonborn, there were registers of people who claimed the blessing dating back to the merethic era, when classical Nordic stories told of men – never mer – who stood up to dragons and devoured their souls. Stories which were supposed to be just that, except now she had stood up to a dragon and devoured its soul, which brought her to problem number one – and two – she was dragonborn, and she was not human, and she was holding a so-called gift which did not, historically and religiously, belong to her.

And that in turn brought her to problem number three: she was an elf, a Thalmor elf, a gods damned soldier of the Dominon, and the human version of Auri-el had told humans that the dragonborn _like her_ were meant to sit on the throne, a throne which the Dominion was fiercely vying for. That she could not tell them the truth was obvious. What was not so obvious was what exactly she _would_ say. Saying nothing was just not an option – the Dominion would know, one way or the other. It was much better if they knew through her, so she could sell them her story.

Whatever that story was.

She was about to sit back down on her chair when she heard a knock on the door. Quickly gathering the papers together into a pile, she opened it to reveal Sorine.

"Oh, hey," she greeted.

"Hey, Valenwood." Sorine walked in and shut the door behind her. "Just wanted to see how you're holding up. And well, say goodbye."

Embla walked back to the table and took a seat, pulling the other chair for Sorine. "That's good to hear. I wasn't sure if you'd go, after what happened."

"I have to. Yesterday just made me sure of that." Sorine sat. "Yesterday just made me realize that. We beat it, yeah? We beat it with my ideas, and if the dragons are back, well, I need to get serious with that. With my tech and my science. And it's about time I did anyway, I've always wanted to. But enough about me – you weren't at the funeral."

 _Right,_ Embla sighed. _The funeral._

The funeral which she hadn't been to, because she was too busy thinking about what to tell the Thalmor. "It wouldn't feel right," she muttered, because that too was true. "They're all Nords, and I'm, well, not. I wanted them to be comfortable with their worship."

"Yeah," Sorine nodded. "Good call. Have you decided what you're going to report to your superiors?"

The Breton didn't make eye contact when she asked it, and Embla wondered for a second if she was bluffing, then decided it didn't matter. "Not yet, no. You don't mind?"

"That you're a Thalmor?" Sorine shrugged. "Half the Dawnguard walks around with Talos amulets on their necks and no one has been sent to jail. I don't know what you're up to, but regardless of what it is, you're good."

"For a Thalmor?"

"For a _person_ ," Sorine gave her a light punch on the shoulder. "You're good," she repeated. "And you know what? Just tell whatever story you need to. It's not like the others are eager to give information to the Thalmor. No one is going to call you out."

Embla sighed. "I don't know what story to tell at all."

"Not the truth, obviously. The implications of that would be a political nightmare."

"Oh by Y'ffre, not the truth, no," she drummed her fingers on the table. "The Thalmor have no reason to think I'm dragonborn, there's never been an elven one. But since the Greybeards did me the favor of telling the entirety of Skyrim that there's a dragonborn out there, they'll be looking."

"Are you going to see them?"

"Well, what choice do I have?" Embla pinched the bridge of her nose, then rubbed her eyes. She wondered if she looked as exhausted as she felt. "If dragons are going to start chasing me, I need to figure out what's going on."

"Well, doc," Sorina placed a hand on her shoulder. "Looks like both of us have journeys ahead. I'll write you, Valenwood. You better write me back."

The two stood, and Embla walked her to the door. Sorine was about to leave when something crossed her mind.

"Wait!" She called out. _Don't forget to write Agmaer_ , she thought, and then the full impact of his death finally dawned on her and she found herself tearing up –

And with an idea.

 _Pin it on the dead man, huh?_

"Valenwood?" Sorine queried at her silence.

"Just…" she trailed off. "Good luck."

* * *

 _Tirdas, 16th of First Seed, 4E208_

 ** _EMERGENCY MISSIVE_**

 _Reporting events of the 15th of First Seed, 4E208_

 _Through this missive I hereby inform that **FORT DAWNGUARD** was, as of yesterday, the site of a dragon attack. The beast attacked near sunset, without previous provocation and making use of lethal force._

 _Having witnessed both, this agent has reason to believe the dragon in Fort Dawnguard and the dragon in Helgen were two separate individuals – different in size, color, and scale distribution. The dragon proceeded the hostile behavior by avoiding to land and attacking with fire from above, in a pattern consistent with previous reports of dragon strategies. This agent has reason to believe, due to this deliberate behavior, that dragons are therefore both sentient and rational._

 _The dragon was finally eliminated through the actions of **AGENT SORINE** , by equipping her object of study, a dwemer ballista, with heavy explosives of formulations unknown. Although the dragon intercepted the projectile with its tail, the blast was strong enough to end the beast. The following events transpired:_

 _Following the dragon landing, **AGENT AGMAER** ran outside to intercept the beast. Agent Sorine commanded the retreat of the troops in order to fire the explosive arrow. All recruits but Agent Agmaer ran back inside Fort Dawnguard. The arrow was fired, and Agent Agmaer was presumedly caught in the blast, currently missing in action and declared dead by the Dawnguard. This agent was knocked out by the explosion._

 _Upon regaining of consciousness, the summons of a new dragonborn by the Greybeards were heard. Further investigation of the dragon corpse revealed exclusively the creature's bones, stripped clean by a process of likely magical nature. Beyond that, a horse and supplies were missing from the Dawnguard's stocks._

 _These findings have led this agent to believe Agmaer is likely to have survived the blast and is the summoned dragonborn, his presumed death being a means to mask this and protect him from the Dominion. Although locals were highly evasive during questioning, this agent eventually learned the location of the Greybeards, at the end of the seven thousand steps at the Throat of the World._

 _Given the time-sensitive nature of the situation, this agent has chosen to abandon post and give chase to Agent Agmaer, seeking to intercept and if necessary, eliminate him before his meeting with the Greybeards, which could spell disaster for the goals of the Dominion. Should this objective not be attained, this agent will immediately resume duties within Fort Dawnguard._

 _The Dawnguard suffered heavy casualties in the attack. **AGENT TILDE** received medical care on site, but did not survive her wounds. **AGENT DURAK** has suffered a compound fracture of the femur, stabilized on site, and should make a full recovery. Several agents suffered first and second degree burns, and should also make full recoveries. The structure of Fort Dawnguard has been compromised by the explosion and **CHIEF ISRAN** has already started plans for rebuilding._

 _Agent Sorine did not abandon voluntary recruitment and shall present herself to the Thalmor Embassy for relocation in the University of Alinor, as previously accorded. Given her vital importance in the battle and outstanding scientific skills, this agent recommends the Thalmor to speed up this transfer if possible and reinforce her security._

 _Will immediately report any developments of interest to the Dominion._

 _Adma'agea E._

* * *

Serana Volkihar was having yet another terrible day.

She had, after much persuasion and political maneuvering, managed to invite a Moth Priest from the Imperial City to her castle, in order to finally access the contents of the Elder Scroll she'd slept with for approximately two thousand years. She spent money and time and energy on that, because it was extremely hard to talk someone into visiting a den of vampires via mail, and then she learned her thrice-blasted Moth Priest had been kidnapped by underlings of her clan, under the orders of Orthojolf.

She would have killed Orthojolf for that, except she'd _already_ killed him for unrelated reasons, which left her in her current position – angry, annoyed and searching for her priest under the scorching midday –

 _sun the sun the sun the sun the sun the_

"And then people wonder why I'm always in a bad mood," she muttered, kicking the body of one of the vampires she'd just finished slaughtering so that it laid belly-up. Or that was her intention, at least – as soon as her foot made contact, the skin cracked like glass, and the body crumbled into dust, making her cough.

 _she hears someone approach and turns around for the source_

"Oh, great," she hissed, standing up in a hurry, slapping dead-vampire off her pants and running off to land a kick on the other two bodies so that they too dissolved. Maybe, if the wind blew just the right way, she wouldn't need to answer too many questions, just why there were clothes suspiciously lying around –

 _It's probably just a guard and they're dumb as bricks anyway._

 _the brick and the tick and the kick and the_

Serana turned around to face the person approaching on a horse and squinted against the light, and it was only when the new arrival _shimmered_ she realized it was not, in fact, a guard, but rather –

 _(like staring at)_

"It's you," She said without thinking. "That shitty vampire hunter."

The woman stopped the horse and hopped off it, frowning. "…excuse me?"

"The one who didn't shoot me," Serana continued, pulling down her hood.

"What do you m – oh," the other took a step backwards, raising her palm as one would when meeting a wild animal. Serana would have been offended, except when she stared at her it happened again, the glow, like looking through a glass prism or at –

 _(the sun)_

 _the sun the sun the sun the sun the_

As a being touched by Daedra, Serana had a certain sense, an innate synesthetic perception of other creatures that was clear yet hard to express. She would call it an "aura" because she couldn't think of anything else to call it. Since daedra did not follow the same rules as men and mer, her intuition came in a scrambled mess of senses that generally served to alert her. She could always, for instance, tell when she was around a werewolf, and though most of her kind would call it a stink, it wasn't as much a smell as it was her breathing in the sound of Hircine's hounds howling. Whenever she tired to read the aura of a vampire, she saw the taste of blood.

But this, what she was feeling right then, she couldn't quite pinpoint. It smelled like warmth in her skin after basking in sunlight for a while, and the closest thing she could think about was a toy they once brought her from the Summerset Isles – a kaleidoscope, it was named, and when she looked through it, she saw a mix of colors and fractals. Serana had met someone like that, she knew, once, a very long time ago, in – in –

 _(merethic era)_

 _dead you're dead you're dead you're dead_

She couldn't remember. She pressed her eyes shut to try and dispel the aura, which was definitely stronger than when they first met, and when she opened them the nauseating effect was gone and she finally got to see the actual person. She took in the light tan skin, the copper hair, the tattoos covering both wrists and the entire right arm all the way to the shoulder, and strange golden eyes she could not quite meet _,_ and she thought –

 _This is a Valenwood elf straight out of the Pocket Guide to the Empire._

" _Excuse me?!"_ said elf hissed, indignantly, and Serana realized she'd said that out loud.

"I – um." She rubbed her face with her palm. "I'm sorry, that was terribly rude and racist of me. I'm having a bad day, as you can probably tell." She pointed to the clothes on the ground, and no, the dust had not scattered enough to hide what was obviously a vampire massacre. "Tell you what. Let me buy you a drink to make up for it?"

 _priest?_ The Voice tentatively reminded her.

 _Right, the priest._

"What?!" the elf stared at her as if she'd grown another head. "I – what? I'm sorry, did you just insult a vampire hunter and then ask her out?"

 _When you put it like that, it does sound weird._

"Well, you haven't shot me," Serana pointed out. "Again. So, I figured there's no harm in asking?"

"I haven't shot you because I'm not _insane_ ," the other snapped. "We're standing over a pile of dust from at least three vampires, right under the midday sun, and you're unscratched. I saw you go one-on-one against a gargoyle made of pure marble and win."

 _the PRIEST the priest the priest the priest the –_

"Children of the forest always did have good instincts," she muttered. "Listen, I really need to get going. Why don't you tag along? Then you get to report to your superiors what the evil vampires are up to, and maybe I get to change your mind about that drink. Unless you have something more important to do?"

"No," she replied a bit too fast, which made Serana think not only she did have something important to do, but it was also something shady. "What are you up to, anyway?"

"Elder Scroll," Serana pointed to her back with her thumb. "Moth Priest to read it. I invited one over but one of my father's underlings had him kidnapped. Good old vampire politics. So now I'm off to find my priest so he can read my scroll."

And with that out of the way, Serana crouched near the clothes and started searching them for any clues to where they'd taken the priest – a note, the original orders, anything.

 _an idea crosses her mind_

"Wait," she said. "Are you, per chance, any good at tracking?" Serana could track, but she did it poorly, mostly because she wasn't used to hunting. "Also, I should have introduced myself properly. Nice to meet you. Name's Serana."

"Embla," the elf offered. "And yeah. I could find your priest, probably. What's in that scroll?"

"Some prophecy about vampires and the sun," She said. "My father has been obsessed with it for centuries. I don't know the specifics."

 _liar_

Embla walked around the scene, crouching every once in a while to inspect something from a closer distance. Serana took a step back and let her work, watching, thinking, trying to recover the memory of where exactly she'd seen someone like that –

 _(solstheim)_

"I think I know where they went," Embla spoke, snapping her back to the present. "See here? There's blood. I think there was a fight before you arrived, and they ended up dragging him somewhere. Are they, um, like you…?"

"What?" Serana blinked, then her brain caught up. "Ah. No, I don't think so. Lesser vampires. Maybe a half-blood."

"Then they're probably waiting for the night somewhere close," the elf concluded. "We can follow the tracks. Bet they'll lead to a cave or a crypt or something of the sort. Plenty of those around."

 _she follows the stranger through the bushes_

"Can I ask you a question?" Embla asked abruptly, and Serana felt it was not one question but many she was about to ask.

"Go ahead," she replied anyway.

 _three one four one five nine two six five three_

"You said there might be a half-blood there. Did your father turn anyone?"

Serana saw what she wanted to know with the question. "Mmm. Not really. Under the right circumstances, a half-blood can make another. It depends on the seasons and the right sacrifices and the receptor's star sign, but it can be done."

"Oh," the elf paused, bent her back and yanked a leaf out of a shrub, then rubbed it against her fingers, stared for a long moment at the ground, and then resumed walking, this time to the left. "Do you really not mind that I learn all those things, or are you planning to kill me once we get to our destination?"

 _kill?_ The Voice suggested.

 _No, she's interesting,_ she shot back, then shrugged. "I don't care much one way or the other. The general consensus of the court about vampire hunters is that you seem pretty harmless."

Except that elf in particular reminded her of –

 _(a man from solstheim)_

"Well, if it's all the same to you, I rather live," Embla quipped, then stopped at the mouth of a cave. "We're here."

 _kill now?_

"Thank you," she said, then started walking.

"Wait!" she stopped her, placing a gloved hand on her shoulder, then immediately pulling it back. "Do you, umm, do you have a plan? You can't just walk in there and murder a dozen of vampires at the same time."

That was _exactly_ her plan, and Serana hesitated. "Well…"

Embla sighed. "I can't let you do that."

 _kill? kill now?_

 _No, hush_

Serana arched a single eyebrow as if to dare Embla to try to stop her, but decided to humor her anyway, mostly because the situation had gone from infuriating to amusing, although a small part of her did it because –

 _(she was scared)_

 _I'm the scariest thing out there._

"Well, what do you suggest?"

"Can't you talk to them?"

It was her turn to stare at the other in pure confusion. "I don't think so," she said, because she was so surprised at the idea she couldn't even think about something snarky to say.

"Give it a try. Please? I'll cover you, even. If they get too close I'll shoot them down before they know what got them."

 _she frowns_

"I… don't think you understood very well what this vampire hunting business is about," Serana deadpanned. "You don't seem particularly passionate about the eradication of my kind."

"I'm a physician," Embla replied. "And a pacifist. Or try to be, at least. I know sometimes there isn't much to be done other than murder, but I think everyone deserves at least a chance. So talk to them. Maybe scare them off. I don't know. But at least try something before resorting to violence."

 _she thinks that's the dumbest idea she's ever heard_

"That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard," Serana crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'll let you pay me a drink after."

"Well that puts things into perspective," She grinned. "All right. I'll give them a chance to attack first, if that's what you want."

"Not quite, but I'll take it," she muttered, then picked her bow from her back and flung it over her shoulder. "I'll cover you," she repeated, following her into the cave, immediately going off to a sideway path to look for high ground.

Serana wondered for briefly how in Oblivion she planned to shoot in the dark, since Bosmer, as opposed to Khajiit, were not equipped with night vision as far as she knew. But she shrugged it off, mostly because she wasn't worried about whatever resistance the vampires would put up, element of surprise or not.

 _she walks towards the center of the cave to say hello_

It crossed her mind right then that she might just have fallen for a ruse – the elf could let she and the other vampires fight, then pick out whomever survived with her bow. A plan which did overlook her ability to snatch arrows out of thin air, but it was good the possibility occurred her, so she could be alert.

They did not notice her presence immediately, which amused her to no end, and she reckoned she could have impaled a good half a dozen of them when someone finally raised the alarm. They drew their weapons and encircled her. Serana counted ten of them. Her Moth Priest was nowhere to be seen, but the elf was right – they couldn't have gone far, and with that many of them, she was bound to find him close.

 _kill?_

 _Not yet,_ she chided. _Trying to impress a girl._

 _(a man from solstheim and she was scared)_

"Hello," she smiled with no real humor. "Pleased to make the acquaintance. You might have heard of me. Lady Serana, daughter of Lord Harkon. I believe you have my Moth Priest. Please return him peacefully so I can refrain from taking violent measures."

The vampires hesitated. The half-blood among them stepped forward and grinned, baring his teeth. "Lady Serana. Your reputation precedes you. Although apparently it was wrong? From what I heard, you never shied away from a fight."

 _…kill now?_

 _Not yet,_ Serana repeated to herself, and now her attention was divided because she suddenly felt on the verge of recovering a memory.

 _(she thought maybe he would be the end of her)_

"I'm being generous," she replied absently. "Please don't waste my time."

"Or perhaps you know you're outnumbered and outpowered."

"Solstheim, Solstheim," she whispered, ignoring the vampire entirely. A man from Solstheim. Her father's guest. The Merethic Era –

 _(his skin burned to the touch)_

"What are you talking about?" the half-blood hissed.

She was getting a headache and running out of patience really fast. "Orthojolf is dead," she blurted out. "By my hands. You don't owe him anything anymore. Go out, fuck a mortal and then feed on them, enjoy your eternal life." She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Don't waste it."

 _(a man from solstheim)_

 _solstheim solstheim solstheim solstheim solstheim –_

Some of the vampires hesitated, but no weapons were lowered. Serana took a deep breath. She could feel frustration building up like water on a dam. She needed to sit down and close her eyes and _think_ , because she felt more and more that whatever she was trying to remember was important.

 _kill now?_ The Voice suggested, but she didn't want to move, she wanted to think.

 _(a man)_

"I'll personally grant my blood to whoever takes care of him," Serana pointed to the leader with her chin, then took a step back.

What happened then was a whirlwind. The half-blood barely had time to show surprise before the lesser vampires descended on him, lashing out with their blades and spells. He was more powerful, but they were many, and the vampire lord transformation could only be attained during the day by Children of Coldharbour.

 _a man a man a man a man a man a man_

She turned her eyes away from the fight to try to unscramble her memories.

 _(a man from solstheim in the merethic era who could have been the end of her)_

Serana toned out the screams and the sounds of metal ripping flesh.

 _(but he wasn't)_

She never saw the man again and she never learned what her father invited him over for. Back then she was still young, recently turned, and time was – different. Time wasn't quite as linear in the merethic era.

 _(like staring at the sun)_

A final roar of protest. Serana turned to see the half-blood still standing, surrounded by bodies and dust. He took a step towards her and she readied herself to give him a swift end –

She heard the zipping sound of an arrow fly, and then another two. She moved on reflex, turning, and the vampire fell, an arrow protruding from each of his eyes and a third from his heart. For what felt like a second, there was absolute silence, not even the Voice on her head daring break it, and finally she made progress –

 _( a MAN from SOLSTHEIM who was a PRIEST and wore a MASK which was a good thing because if she saw his eyes she would go MAD and she could barely look at him because it was like staring at the SUN)_

 _priest the priest the priest the priest the priest the_

She took her hand to her forehead and winced. Embla must have approached in that meantime, because suddenly she was next to her, and Serana felt an abrupt wave of guilt she could not quite explain, except she wished she'd done better –

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "That wasn't how you wanted things to go."

"It's okay," the elf sighed, her tone implying the opposite but without anger or resentment, just raw sadness. "You tried, at least."

Somehow, that made her feel worse. "We should look for the priest."

"Ahead of you there," Embla smirked. "He's on a cage to the left. I could see him from my spot. Are you… feeling okay?"

"Have you ever been to Solstheim?" she asked on impulse as the two made their way to the victim.

"Huh?" She frowned. "You mean the island? I haven't, not really. Why the question?"

"You remind me of someone I met once. He was from there."

 _(like fractals of light through a crystal)_

They found the priest before she could ask any further questions that would do nothing but make Serana awkward. He was sitting on the cage, his back to them, and she briefly considered crushing the lock with her hands, but Embla was already on it with a lockpick and a torsion wrench. The priest did not turn, not even when the lock fell to the ground and the cage door groaned open.

 _don't do it_

She froze by the entrance, feeling something stuck on her throat, a wave of anxiety hitting her hard enough that she felt the urge to throw up. Serana took a step back, and for a moment she swore she felt her heart beat.

 _Thump-thump._

 _(the end of her)_

"Serana?"

 _(he wasn't the end of her but someday)_

Embla reached out to her, and Serana saw her hands were gloveless, to better handle the bow or the lockpick or maybe to touch her, she would touch her –

 _(someday someone like him would come along)_

 _Thump-thump._

Serana closed her hand over her chest, clutching, gasping for air, tearing up from the pain of a heart who should never beat again –

 _(with an aura like fractals of light and eyes like the sun)_

She felt the walls close around her, suffocating her, and for a moment she wished they would finally reach her and seal her underground for another two thousand years just so she didn't have to see –

 _(I'm the scariest thing out there)_

 _the end of you the end of you the end of you the end –_

"Serana!"

The priest started laughing, a breathless, raspy sound that chilled her to the very bone and made her heart race, and now it went _thump-thump_ with increasing speed and the blood roared on her ears, making her dizzy.

She wanted to scream.

 _(I'm the scariest thing)_

The Moth Priest turned.

He had no eyes.

 _(out there)_

 _Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-_

He stood and walked to them, still laughing, blood slowly seeping out from his empty orbits, and she saw he had no teeth, only bleeding gums and the scent of it all made her fangs slide out even though all she wanted to do was throw up –

 _the blood of coldharbour the eye of the dragon the blood of coldharbour the eye of the dragon_

"What the _fuck –"_ Embla, bless her, put herself between Serana and whatever was left of the priest, a spell charging up on her hands, and it was fire, of course it was _fire,_ "Back off!"

 _the blood of the dragon the blood of the dragon the blood_

The priest was screaming something which she could not quite understand, the Voices on her head so much louder, and he said those words over and over, dragging his way to them with a smile filled with the horror of things worse than death. He didn't stop.

Embla cast her spell and he was sent back with the strength of her fireball, his body igniting and filling the room with the pungent smell of roasted clothes and roasted flesh, and still Serana couldn't force her fangs back in, and still he laughed and laughed and laughed, even as his body blackened and burned, the sound mixing with the cracks of his skin and bones under the heat.

Serana crouched on the floor, closed her eyes and covered her ears with her palms.

And then she screamed.

She wasn't sure how long it took her, how long it took her throat to stop aching and her heart to stop beating. All she knew was she eventually opened her eyes to find herself being held by the elf, who held her close to her chest and whispered "It's over," and "It's okay."

She started sobbing instead, because it was just too much, way too much – her father, the prophecy, the Elder Scroll, the priest, the voices, this woman who had –

 _(the blood of the dragon)_

\- hands which she expected to burn, but they didn't, and eyes which she expected to drive her to madness, but instead they were calm and concerned and unexpectedly soft. Perhaps they would, in time.

 _Perhaps they will._

"It's okay," she heard the whispers, and her hands on Serana's shoulders were like the gentle warmth of the early morning sun, "It's all right. It's over now. You're okay."

"What did he say?" she caught herself asking, because she needed to know. "I couldn't understand what he was saying."

"He said 'find the Scroll of the Blood and the Scroll of the Dragon'," Embla replied, her tone barely above a whisper. "And then he said 'take the child of Akatosh to the glade'. I don't know what a lot of that means. I think we'll have to do some research."

 _the blood of the dragon the blood of the dragon_

She had been so damn stupid to think that meeting was a coincidence and not a work of fate.

"What were you doing on the road to Ivarstead, Embla?"

 _Please, don't lie,_ she thought, or maybe she said it. She couldn't tell which.

The other opened her mouth, hesitated, then looked away for a second. "I need to climb the seven thousand steps," she finally admitted.

Serana leaned her back against the cave wall and exhaled, staring up at the glowing mushrooms on the roof. She counted to ten and then back to one, steadying her breathing. "It's you," she stated after a while, once the elf had sat down next to her. "The child of Akatosh. The blood of the dragon. That's you. You have – " she paused, " – an aura. I've met one like you before."

"You did?"

"A long time ago," she said. "He was different, though," she reached out then, grabbed Embla's hand, and while contact hit her with a jolt like touching metal charged with static, it also filled her with a pleasant warmth that made her think of bonfires on cold winter nights. "He burned, when I touched him. You don't burn. I think he was mad," she concluded. "And I think – I think things can get really, really bad when people like you go mad."

"I'll… keep that in mind," she said, but didn't move her hand. "Things _have_ been testing my sanity lately."

"You're probably better off asking other people for advice on sanity," Serana stated with a sad half-smile. "Are you still up for that drink? It's a long climb to High Hrothgar, and the place is… well, you'll see."

"Oh, definitely," she replied promptly. "I'll pay the second round. Y'ffre knows we need it."

She grinned then, for real this time, and then she stood and helped the other to her feet. "Let's go, then," she said.

Serana let go of her hand.

 _the beast and the feast and the yeast and the east –_


	7. Chapter 7

Embla let Serana lead the way through the seven thousand steps, for the simple reason that after the first hundred or so, she really couldn't keep up. She was in good shape, or so she liked to think, but they had to pick up winter gear to go up the mountain and Serana was helpful enough to inform that the steps were already on bad shape the last time she visited, which was likely around three thousand years in the past. Since they would have to vertically climb some sections and unfortunately her horse could not walk at a ninety-degree angle, she had to leave it on Ivarstead's stables.

Which brought her to her current predicament: she was cold (again) and had a load of extra weight on her back.

"Just my luck," she complained under her breath. "I survive the whole miserable winter and when things finally warm up I have to climb the Mountains of Ice themselves."

Ahead of her, Serana snickered.

"You'd think this whole blood of Auri-el thing would at least keep me warm," she continued, picking up the pace so she walked next to the other. "But nooo. I don't even get to breathe fire."

"You might," the vampire pointed out, generously slowing down for her. "I think that may come with the skillset."

"Wait, really? I thought those were just stories."

Serana shrugged. "The dragonborn I knew didn't really demonstrate, and it seemed rude to ask."

Embla had frankly no idea about the etiquette of supernatural powers, and so she nodded in agreement. "Speaking of which, can I ask you a question?"

She thought she saw the hint of a smirk cross the vampire's expression. "Only if I get to ask one back."

"All right. Let's make this a climbing and questioning game." She walked one step up, and then another. Her legs ached. "You said I had an aura. What did you mean by that?"

Serana was silent for a long while, then sighed. "It's hard to explain. I can usually tell when a mortal is… something else. You bring up the image of things that burn."

 _Like my QUADRICEPS,_ she thought, taking another step. "Things that burn aren't inherently bad."

"No, they aren't."

She waited for her to continue but was met with silence. After a while, when she finally caught her breath, Embla spoke again. "Your turn to ask a question. Gods, don't you feel the air getting thinner? I'm feeling like a fish out of water here."

This time Serana's smug grin was open and clear. "What's up with the Divines? There were only eight when I left. When and where did we get a new one?"

"Right," Embla couldn't even begin to explain that. She took a moment to think. "Tiber Septim was a dragonborn who conquered all of Tamriel about… five hundred years after you vanished?"

"I went under on the 297th year of the second era," She offered.

Embla made a mental note to correct that information in literature. "A bit longer than that, then. Five hundred and fifty years, give or take some. How he did what he did is a wild story which involves a giant Dwemer golem, among other things." She paused, bent over and rested her hands on her knees, panting. "But the important part is –" she gasped for air, " – when he died, humans claim he ascended to become the dragonborn god. The mer are strongly opposed to that notion. Regardless, he joined the pantheon and then was recently removed because of a deal with the Dominion."

"What do your people have against him?"

"There's never been an elven dragonborn," she explained. "So the _Altmeri_ are bitter over it. _Khajiiti_ and _Bosmeri_ don't really care, but he was never in our pantheon and save for the Nords, most humans don't seem to mind either."

"Do you feel a certain kinship to him, now that you know you're dragonborn too?" Serana queried.

"Not really." Embla stopped on her tracks. Her lungs burned. She took a few deep breaths, but the air never seemed enough. "We have nothing in common save for that. If anything, this dragonborn thing makes me feel estranged from my people. Bet you the Nords wouldn't accept me with open arms either." She was positive the tips of her fingers were turning blue under her gloves. "Gods, can we take a break? It's almost lunchtime anyway."

"We will never get there," Serana complained, but stopped anyway. "When we return, Skyrim will have been overrun by dragons and vampires and all manners of monsters because their dragonborn is a jungle-grown elf who can't climb a mountain."

"Ha-ha," Embla hissed, leaning against a rock for support and closing her eyes. When she opened them, she immediately shielded them from the reflected sunlight on white snow. "I hate this. This is ridiculous. This sun is useless. It shines its stupid light to blind me, but when I stand under it, I don't get any warmer!"

"You'd make a fantastic vampire," the other grinned, already unpacking their food. Embla took out a fur from her backpack and unrolled it on the floor, then sat on it and helped Serana set the table. "Your turn to ask a question."

"Right," She reached out for a small leather satchel which held the remains of a rabbit they'd caught and cooked in the morning. She took one haunch, Serana took the other. "How does the food thing work for you?" she asked between bites.

"I need food or blood," she explained. "I can live with either. I don't strictly need to drink blood ever, but after a while without it I start to go a little mad. I usually take a sip every couple months or so, or when I get in a scrap and need it for fast healing."

"Oh, that's way less than I thought," Embla crushed the tip of the bone between her teeth and sucked on the marrow.

"The less pure the vampire, the more they depend on it. A lot of us do it for the rush, a bit like humans and skooma. I avoid it as much as I can though. The high isn't worth the withdrawal."

Embla took out a knife from her belt and used the hilt to break the rabbit femur into pieces. The cooking process often rendered the bone useless, but if she got lucky she would be able to reuse a few fragments.

"Why do you do that?" Serana watched her work.

"The bones of animals carry their skills when used in arrow tips," Embla clarified. "Rabbit brings speed and birds bring accuracy. Tiger penetrates deeper and mammoth packs a punch strong enough to send people flying. Spider and snake are both poisonous. We're still discovering the full possibilities."

"I've never heard of this," She tossed Embla her own leg bone. "You'd think the army would make use of that."

" _Slek_ ," she said with disdain. "It's not that simple. It only works if you're a _bosmeri_ from the Green. _Ephemi_ will never understand. How do you think I covered for you in the dark? Those arrows were tipped with the bones of an owl."

Serana tilted her head with an amused half-smile, but offered no further comments. Embla salvaged what she could from the bones, then threw them inside a satchel. She didn't need to keep bones from different animals in different recipients – she could tell with a touch where a fragment came from.

They packed things up and Embla took a long swig from her waterskin before they got moving again. She heard Serana mutter something unintelligible under her breath and strained to hear better, but still couldn't make out the words. In plain daylight, she lacked the effect she had on Embla when they first met.

She was still astoundingly good looking and staring at her for too long still gave Embla what seemed like the bastard child of a panic attack and a horny premenstrual moment, but it was easier to focus on the imperfections, like the tiny scar on her upper lip, or how her face was dotted with freckles, or how for some reason her incisive teeth still had their ridges, as if she'd just changed them.

Serana was overall a quiet traveling companion, and more often than not their dialogues would end just like that – silence and a smile, occasionally a question or two. Except the vampire talked to herself. A lot. Embla had a hard time figuring out what she said and she didn't want to intrude, but her curiosity was bound to get the best of her eventually – or maybe right then.

"You talk to yourself," she pointed out as the two resumed their climb.

"Yes."

 _Well all right then,_ she thought, returning her focus to the stone steps. The path was slippery, which added an extra layer of suffering to the journey, but at least they were almost at the top and the view was stunning.

"Helps me think," Serana said abruptly.

"Huh?"

"Talking helps me think," she continued, then halted on top of the stairs and looked up. Embla followed her gaze to see their destination: a huge stone castle, jagged teeth of ice sticking from under the window frames. The walls were black and the snow swirled above it in a tiny whirlwind.

"Wow," Embla crossed her arms, rubbing them with her palms for warmth. "It does look a little creepy."

A smile. She was learning to identify all different sorts of Serana smiles. That one she would call the "I-told-you-so" smug smirk.

"I can't go in with you," She muttered, picking up the pace. "There's a… specific place for guests. A room. I'm not supposed to leave the guest room. You'll have to explore its entrails by yourself."

 _Entrails,_ she mused. _As if it were a living thing._

She was also learning to pay attention to Serana's often unusual choice of words. The vampire had an accent which she presumed was how people sounded two thousand years in the past, and her description of things could almost be called poetic.

Poetic, yet bizarrely accurate.

 _Entrails,_ she thought again, and stared at the castle ahead, and shivered.

* * *

When she pushed the doors open, the sound of grinding metal echoed through the halls for so long, she thought it would never fade. Maybe it didn't – maybe the high-pitched groan just moved out of reach, and the echo would remain on the monastery forever. It certainly felt that way.

Whatever it was, it brought goosebumps to Embla's skin. The place was dark, and the candles seemed to burn unusually dim, as if the very shadows around them swallowed whatever light they gave. Her vision seemed to sit on the verge of color and black-and-white, never dark or light enough to make the full switch one way or the other. It felt numbing, the whole place, bare, the only decorations being the banners that hung from the roof with something indistinguishable written on them.

When they walked in, the wind was enough to make them swing, and Embla thought for a fraction of second that rather than pieces of cloth, they looked like something else.

 _Like people._

She instinctively took a step to the side, bumping her shoulder on Serana's. The vampire didn't turn, but when four of the monks walked in to greet them – or not greet them, since they didn't speak – Serana briefly grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. It was a good thing she did, because if Embla wasn't spooked before, she was growing more and more anxious by the second.

And then, as she had warned, one of the monks beckoned for Serana to follow. The other didn't speak, just nodded, and then turned to her and pointed to her backpack. It took her a split second to realize she was offering to take it. Embla handed it over, then followed the three remaining monks with something tightening on her chest. She wished they didn't have to part. Granted, a homicidal vampire wasn't her first choice of work partner, but the monks got under her skin in a way she didn't quite understand, and she would rather not be alone with them.

Too late.

 _I can't see their faces,_ she thought, even thought hey had their backs to her. _I can't see their faces and they don't talk and my footsteps are too loud and it's too fucking quiet here and –_

She took a deep breath, feeling jittery. This was unlike her; she was the type to stay reasonably calm during dragon attacks and other adverse events. She told herself they were just monks and there was no reason to worry, but a part of her she wasn't used to – a part of her she met on that fateful day in Helgen – was incredibly uneasy at this situation, and Embla was not sure how to deal with it.

She wanted to ask what was going on, but she thought hearing her own voice bounce off from the stone walls like her footsteps did would drive her utterly mad. The monks stopped so abruptly, she almost bumped into them. She noticed then she was standing at the center of what seemed to be a triangle engraved on the floor. Sure enough, each of the monks moved to take a place in one of the corners. Every bit of her magical knowledge suddenly reminded her that it was a bad idea to stand in the middle of unknown triangles.

The monks started humming.

 _What the fuck –_

" _Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin –"_

 _(wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal)_

 _" – MAHFAERAAK AHST VAAL – "_

 _Not this again,_ she thought as a headache exploded behind her eyes. She took her hand to her temples and rubbed them, digging her fingers deep. Their voices were unnaturally loud, though whether it was the structure around them or something about the song itself, she did not know.

 _"Ahrk fin norok paal graan –"_

 _(fod nust hon zindro zaan)_

 _"- HON ZINDRO ZAAN –"_

They were walking in a circle, each taking the place of the one on their right. The movement, the way it resonated in her mind, her headache – it was nauseating, and she started feeling seriously ill. The sound was loud enough that it made her ears ring, and she grit her teeth.

 _" – kogaan mu draal –"_

 _(dovahkiin dovahkiin)_

Her heart was drumming against her chest and her breathing sped up, shallow and painful. The dizziness escalated enough that the corners of her vision darkened, and she felt her skin sticky with could sweat.

 _They're going to talk me to death_ , she thought, and abruptly she recalled that was exactly how some accounts claimed Skyrim's High King was murdered. She, like the rest of the Thalmor, was skeptical about it and relegated that piece of information to the embellishments of the locals.

But now. Now, she understood.

 _"Wo lost fron wah ney dov –"_

 _(and the races of men)_

 _"- ahrk fin reyliik do jul –"_

It felt like ripping. Ripping out her soul, tearing something from her as if she was being skinned alive, incredible pain that was both cutting and squeezing and burning and –

 _"Voth aan suleyk –"_

 _(the sun)_

She wanted to cry. Her legs felt weak ad she felt her pulse both speed up and weaken. There was an infuriating irony to it – she'd survived the Wild Hunt and years on the battlefield, she'd survived a damn dragon –

 _(mirmulnir)_

She felt it all unfold at once, and she _knew_ things she had no way of knowing. Dragons were born with a name of three words, a name they earned for their feats in life, except the name came before the feats because for dragons time wasn't quite linear, like it wasn't for Akatosh itself and she could not wrap her mind around it –

 _(allegiance strong hunt)_

Allegiance because of how he pledged himself to an unspeakable horror which she'd met in Helgen.

Strong because he never died, not when the Blades hunted, not when the dragonborn ruled, not once, he'd lived through thousands of years without falling and waiting for this moment –

Hunt, because that was his final task. He was meant to hunt her. He was not sure whether he would succeed – he feared the opposite, despite his arrogance – but it was a task he had been born to.

 _(dragon born)_

 _"DOVAHKIIN, DOVAHKIIN –"_

 _It means 'dragon' in dragon,_ she thought incoherently. _It means dragonborn. He was calling me. They are calling me._

Embla stood up. It felt like a punch in the gut. And then, because she finally understood, she answered them, and she answered as a dragon would. She answered it with fire.

" _YOL –"_

It was unlike anything she'd felt before. The very air on her lungs seemed to ignite, fire exploding from her lips. Blue flames lit up the room and blinded her when their light reflected off the walls. The wave of heat was enough to turn her skin red, yet even when the flames danced back to her and licked her skin, singing off the hairs off her arms, she didn't seem to burn.

The monk in front of her wasn't so lucky. His black robe ignited and quickly dissolved into cinders. He didn't scream, even as fire melted through his skin and exposed his bone, even as his very eyes seemed to leak out of their sockets. He didn't scream and he didn't stop singing, not until his vocal chords finally burned and he fell, a blackened husk hitting the floor with a dry thud. The smell was unbearable, and Embla retched. She couldn't breathe.

The two monks who remained were still singing, and illogically, their voices seemed louder still, as if each note was multiplied by ten. She saw white spots dancing on her vision and placed her hands on the floor for support.

 _They're not going to stop,_ she realized. _Not for as long as there is a single one still standing._

She would have to kill them, or she would crumble under their voices. Except she didn't want to – she had no intention of setting anyone else on fire. So she did the only other thing she could think of. She made a run for it.

Embla stood, legs wobbly, took a deep breath and bolted between the two monks, running to where she thought she'd come from, footsteps loud, chased by the echoes of the men she'd left behind. The noise propagated with such intensity, she couldn't tell whether they were following her or still spinning circles behind.

She ran until she felt her legs would give, and then she screamed until her throat ached, and just as she'd expected, the sound was maddening. And so Embla covered her ears and ran again.

The voices stopped, eventually, even her own. That was when her rational mind finally got a grip and she realized she was completely lost. The monastery was huge and she had a feeling she was going around in circles, which meant she could effectively walk these halls forever. The thought, or maybe the place itself, gave her a sudden surge of claustrophobia.

 _I miss the Green,_ she thought, and found herself tearing up.

Embla kept moving. She counted exactly three hundred and fifty two steps before she saw the same banner again, but it was too dark for her to tell whether she was going through the same place or if the monks just had several identical ones. She paused, took a sit under it and closed her eyes, trying to clear her thoughts.

 _Think,_ she told herself. _What are your resources? You have good tracking skills. And you have magic._

Magic would be the solution to that problem. There were spells for people who were lost, she just had to decide on an objective and then focus on it. Embla took a couple deep breaths. She wasn't sure whether she'd failed the Greybeard's test, and she decided she didn't want to find out either. What she wanted, what she _really_ wanted right then, was –

 _Serana,_ she thought. _I want to find Serana._ She needed to talk to someone, have some real human interaction. That was going to be hard. Creatures touched by daedra were often invisible to clairvoyance spells, a lot of times on purpose. She wasn't even sure about how to word it. Illusion was her least preferred branch of magic, and it involved a complex mix of gesturing and speaking in old elven.

Embla grit her teeth and lifted her fists in the air, thinking.

 _"Emero,_ " she whispered, the word for 'guide', then she extended both her middle fingers, touched their tips, pulled them apart and made them touch again, right finger above the left. That was the sign for _'place'._

She felt the buzz of magicka run through her, almost like static, and told herself to keep going.

 _I have guide and place,_ she jumbled for what to do next, and then decided on another gesture. She closed her right hand in a thumbs up and pointed to her back with it, then opened her palm and touched her thumb on her sternum.

 _Guide, place, woman._ A blue fog began to gather around her. She had to add descriptive words now, and divines knew how many it would take for the spell to take shape and point the way. She kept the image of Serana clear in her mind. She thought about the day they'd first met –

 _"Gorigalas,_ " she blurted, which stood for 'obscure cave', which was a terrible piece of information for a locator spell. The fog fizzled. _"Baune!"_

 _I am so bad at this_

She curved her index and middle fingers and tapped them on her neck, the sign for "vampire". Mighty vampire. Now she had something going. _What the fuck else,_ she thought, then opened her left hand and ran the side of her right index finger across it, twisting her wrist as she did it. Mighty vampire. Murder.

 _"Rielle."_

Mighty vampire, murder, beautiful.

 _Please, divines,_ she begged. _"Ald. Arpen."_ She raised her index and middle fingers on a horizontal V shape and tapped them to her right shoulder, then the left, then her right side. Old, noble, princess. " _Gori -_ oh thank fuck," she scrambled to her feet. She touched her hand on the wall and the energy gathered around it, sparks occasionally bursting between her fingers, showing her a clear path.

There was no need to hurry, but Embla found herself running anyway.

* * *

Serana took off her cloak and shook her hair free, tossing the cloth on the slab of stone covered with straw and a fur that the Graybeards had the nerve to call "bed".

 _bed bed bed bed bed bed bed bed bed bed_

The Throat of the World, as with most magically charged or holy places, had a way of messing up her Voice. It was quieter there, calmer, and it seemed restricted to repeating bits of her thoughts over and over, as if to mimic the effect the walls of High Hrothgar had on any sound she made.

 _echo echo echo echo echo echo echo_

She would almost call it peaceful, except the peace inside her head was quickly replaced with external sounds. The monastery was at the same time unnerving quiet and impossibly loud – whatever sound she made seemed trapped, sucked into the cold stone so that the walls could whisper them back to her hours after, when any natural resonance should be long gone. It was, for the lack of a better word, eerie.

She could _hear_ the place talk, years of laments and prayers and shouts on a guttural ancient language. Serana had a lot of experience with creepy voices, but that place was getting under her skin. She wanted to be gone, and she wanted to be gone as fast as possible. She had no idea how long it would take Embla to do whatever the Graybeards wanted from her. As much as it could be hours, it could be days. Could be weeks or months even. She really hoped for the former. Serana took off her heavy fur coat and tossed it together with her cloak, then reached into her backpack and picked up a book.

 _If I don't do anything I'm going to go mad,_ she thought, and then added, _Madder._

 _mad mad mad mad mad mad mad mad_

She sat down, and she read. At some point, one of the greybeards walked in and dropped off a leather satchel. He didn't talk, as usual, and neither did Serana. Assuming it was meant for Embla because of the symbols engraved on it, she placed it on top of the other bed and resumed her book, "A brief history of the Empire, part I". She had a lot to catch up on.

 _Why is it so absurdly hot,_ Serana kicked off her boots and then her socks, so that she was only wearing her silken tunic and linen pants. She heard footsteps on the hallway and ignored them despite them grew louder, because she'd been hearing footsteps all afternoon. And then the door burst open.

 _open open open open open open_

She looked up to see the elf enter –

And immediately averted her eyes, hissing, her skin growing sticky with sweat. "Sanguine's holy knickers," she yelped. "Get a grip, woman, your aura is completely out of control!"

"I – I'm," she gasped. "I'm trying, I'm sorry, it's just –"

"Embla –"

"This place and these – these monks, and, and," she ran her hand through her hair, and Serana saw it was shaking. "Everything is so loud and – and they were singing and I –"

"Embla!" she snapped, because the room was growing hotter and she had half a mind to kick her out until she could calm down.

"I'm – I'm sorry!" the other stuttered. "Just, just talk to me," she leaned against the wall. "Please. About anything."

"I cannot feel temperature," she blurted. "Not in the traditional sense. I don't feel the weather around me, but I do feel warmth and cold relative to other creatures. I'm not sure how to explain," she pointed to her clothes. "Except being around you is always uncomfortably warm. As if you brought that jungle weather of yours wherever you went. And that's on a good day –" she gave Embla the bad eye, "Because right now I am this close to stripping and rolling in the snow."

"…oh." Embla blinked, sheepish. "Why do you wear so many clothes, then?"

"Because it's weird to be on ice dressed as if I'm going for a swim."

 _weird weird weird weird weird weird_

"Okay," the elf nodded, accepting the explanation. "Okay, good. Keep talking."

"You look about as appetizing as a mouthful of embers," Serana continued. "Never before in my very long life have I met someone whose blood I want less. You'd think the blood of a god would seem alluring, but it honestly just seems like drinking from you would be like trying to swallow Meridia's socks."

"That's offensive," she said, but it sounded more like a question than an affirmative.

"I am very sorry you do not appeal to my tastes."

"It's strange that you eat people," Embla babbled. Serana could look her way now, at least, which had to be a good sign.

"You eat people too," she pointed out.

 _people people people people people people_

"That's – true, but it's different."

"Is it?"

Embla paused. "Well, yes. We do it ritually on funerals, instead of burying our dead. We don't…hunger for it. And we don't get drunk or giddy from it either. It's very somber and respectful, we don't see other people as prey to hunt."

"Point taken," she acknowledged. The elf sat down and took a deep breath. Serana considered touching her hand for comfort, but decided against it.

 _Too hot. Not yet._ And then, from the depths of her subconscious, a stranger thought. _Whose comfort?_

She shook her head to clear it and wondered what to say next. "They left you something – the Graybeards, I mean. On that satchel." She gestured towards it with her chin.

Embla opened it, spilling its contents on the bed. There was a book, which she picked up first, opened on a random page and then slammed shut. "Not ready for this yet," she muttered, going for a note instead. She scanned it, then pressed her back to the wall and sighed.

"Bad news?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Apparently I passed – whatever they were testing. They were very satisfied I stopped – " she hesitated. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Whenever you feel ready," Serana nodded. "Anything else of importance?"

"They want me to fetch them something – someone's ancient ritual horn or something of the sort."

 _horn horn horn horn horn horn horn_

Serana arched an eyebrow. "Clearly they are not aware we are on a schedule."

Embla shrugged, still looking notably dejected. Serana pinched the bridge of her nose. "Don't worry about it. I'll have Garan get it for us."

"Garan?" She tilted her head. "Is that one of your lackeys?"

"Don't be crude. Garan is a friend." She felt her lips curl up in the lightest of smiles. "He bosses over my lackeys."

"I think it's supposed to be a special dungeon to test the dragonborn or something of the sort."

"My sweet Valenwood elf," she teased. "If there's one thing I can tell you about every nord crypt is that there's _always_ a backdoor. Any news on those Elder Scrolls we need?"

The elf scoffed, then tossed the note aside. "Nothing." She rubbed her face with her palms. "Gods, I hate this place."

"Don't mention it," She leaned forward. "What about that book?"

Embla gave it a sideway glance. "It's… a dictionary, except without the translations. It's a book of words, really. A book of the dragon tongue. I'm supposed to… it's hard to explain. I – we killed a dragon, back in Fort Dawnguard."

 _dragon dragon dragon dragon dragon_

"You did _what?"_

"It was Sorine, really. Our engineer. She made this massive explosive and we took him out with it. Lost a lot of people in the process." She broke eye contact. "After… when it – he – was down, I took something from him. His soul. And so these words," she poked the book with her boot, "I'm supposed to… remember them, in a way. Yank them back from his memory. My memory. It… doesn't feel comfortable."

"Then don't do it," she replied immediately, a bit too fast. Embla narrowed her eyes. Serana mentally cursed.

 _Aren't the dragonborn supposed to be tall Nord knuckleheads?_ She asked herself bitterly.

"I think so," Embla replied, making her realize she'd said it out loud. "I'm not sure what happened here. Looks like Auri-el – like Akatosh misfired. I'll take you wishing I was dumber as a compliment."

She rolled her eyes and looked away. "You're perceptive to an annoying extent but quiet about what you notice at all the right moments. That's dangerous. I'm not sold on you being just a physician or vampire hunter. Something else. Spy maybe."

 _spy spy spy spy spy spy_

Silence. Serana smiled dangerously, letting her fangs show. Silence usually meant she was right.

" _Slek_ ," Embla finally muttered under her breath.

Serana's smile turned into a full vicious grin. _"Barra,"_ she replied at the insult in perfect ironic Bosmeris. _You're welcome._ "I have over two thousand years of experience as a politician. Keep that in mind." She winked. "Let me see that book."

The other handed it over to her wordlessly. Serana was fairly certain she was flushing, which she found delightful. She skimmed the pages briefly. The runes were familiar, used by people in a past too far for her to recall accurately, but she couldn't translate them, so she put it away.

"Secret for a secret?" the elf asked abruptly.

 _Aha_

"Sure. You go first."

"You're right. I'm spying for the Thalmor."

"The Thalmor?"

"The Dominion," she clarified.

 _Ah. The elves are at it again._ "The Dominion… which you did not inform of your dragonborn nature." She drummed her fingers on her thigh. "Interesting."

"I'm on the vampire investigation," Embla continued, staring intently at the roof. "Supposed to figure out the increase in activity and even open hostility we've been observing. That's why I joined the Dawnguard. For information. Didn't get me very far, to be honest, but I'm not being particularly diligent on my reports either. They don't know you have a _Kel_."

 _kel kel kel kel kel kel_

 _She's mixing up languages_

"A rebel soldier."

It was Embla's turn to give her a cryptical smile, the first she'd ever seen from her. "That's a story for another secret. What skill are you not comfortable using?"

"Shapeshifting. I don't like how it makes me feel." Something dark crossed the elf's expression. "Another secret, I assume?"

"Another secret," Embla confirmed, then sighed. "For another time, maybe. I'm exhausted." She hesitated. "Do you think… I, well. I don't want to spend the night alone. This place is getting to me."

 _Not yet, not yet._

"Stay," she offered. "There's two beds anyway. No need for you to take another room. I don't bite. Usually."

"Hah. Thank you. I hope I don't bother you with my… body heat. Or aura heat. Whichever."

Serana lunged forward and grabbed her hand, inhaling at the jolt she felt and at the undeniable fact that she enjoyed it - wanted more of it like a drug. How it crawled from the tips of her fingers and under her skin, warming her very bones. And it hurt, physically hurt, like it did when she touched something holy, but it also made her feel addicted and alive.

 _(the end of you)_

"It's no issue," she ran her fingers over Embla's knuckles, "I'll just remove another set of clothes."

Serana knew the effect she had on people, and she reveled on it – the way Embla blushed and her eyes carefully ran over her shape, stopping where their skins touched, then rising up to look at her face again. They made eye contact and she grinned, predatory, the same expression she reserved for the few unlucky mortals she picked when she had to feed.

The dragonborn pulled her hand back and looked away.

 _Restraint,_ she thought, half annoyed and half amused. _What a rare and inconvenient trait._

 _want want want want want want want_

 _Yes,_ she agreed with the Voice. But Serana was a patient woman. She'd get what she wanted, eventually.

She had all the time in the world.

* * *

Embla woke up with a gasp, sitting up and immediately getting dizzy from the subtle movement. She fought for control of her labored breathing, closing her eyes and counting to ten, trying to shake off the confusion of waking up somewhere unfamiliar.

 _I'm in High Hrothgar,_ she reminded herself. _Visiting the monks of the Thu'um. I came up here in the company of –_

"You're restless at night," Serana said, and Embla turned so fast it made her head ache.

She was different. Embla could barely see her, what with how dim the room was, the lights of Masser and Secunda barely shining through the thick glass windows. Maybe it was the dark, maybe it was the moonlight, maybe it was the sleep she tried to rub off her eyes. But she was different, that much was clear. She looked more like she had when they first met – mesmerizing.

Beautiful.

 _I'm used to sleeping short turns from when was in the army,_ she thought but didn't say. "I have horrible dreams."

It didn't feel like a confession, even though it was.

Serana scoffed and looked away, towards the window. Embla could almost taste the silence. Her heartbeat felt loud over the background of howling winds and echoed voices and rattling wooden frames and what she swore were footsteps. She stared at Serana, because she couldn't look away – her hair had gone loose at some point, or perhaps she undid the braid on purpose. In the dark, she couldn't see her freckles, or the ridges on her front teeth, or the small scar on her upper lip.

"This place is haunted," Serana abruptly spoke, still not making eye contact.

"So are you," Embla replied on impulse.

Serana turned to look at her, really look at her, and she felt – bare. Naked despite the layers of clothes. Embla swallowed dry. Serana tilted her head and gave her a cryptic smile, but no other answer. Her strange dark amber eyes seemed to almost glow in the dark – or perhaps they _did_ glow. She wouldn't know. It was hard to tell, what with how dreamlike the situation felt.

Serana stood. "I'm going outside for a bit."

"It's the middle of the night," she protested.

The other smiled in a way that did not quite reach her eyes, and Embla wondered – was that smugness, or was that sadness? "I'm the scariest thing out there."

She left. Embla laid down and tried to get back to sleep, but Serana was right – she _was_ restless. And so she grabbed a candle and walked away from her room, where it was cold enough that it hurt. Outside, the wind howled, and a gust managed to sneak its way into the corridor, making her shiver. She protected the fire with her hand and walked, not towards where she thought the door was but aimlessly, as if sleepwalking.

There were voices on the corridors, voices all around her – barely above whispers, speaking some undistinguishable Thu'um, as if the very walls hissed at her as she passed. At least one of those trapped voices, she knew, consisted of her own strangled shout of fire. She covered her ears with her hands, her skin crawling with goosebumps.

 _This place is haunted,_ she thought, and then recognized herself as one of the ghosts.

She walked – through arches and banners, in the dark and in the cold. She walked until she was sure she could never find her way back to her room, and still something prompted her to keep going, and going, and going. She eventually encountered a heavy stone door – the door to the courtyard – slightly ajar. A current of wind came from outside, carrying little snowflakes with it.

Embla stepped outside and found Serana kneeling in front of the final etched stone tablet, her head bowed down as if in prayer, wind ruffling her hair. A gust struck then, putting off her candle and plunging her in near-complete darkness.

Serana opened her eyes.

They _did_ glow.

Embla made her way to her, wordlessly, and knelt to her side. Serana stared ahead, at the tablet. "Can you read that?"

 _No,_ Embla thought, and opened her mouth to answer. Except when she looked at the runes, she realized she could. She reached out, fingers brushing the stone, and as she did the letters seemed to lit up under her skin, warming the tips of her fingers.

" _Qethsegol vahrukiv nonvul bron,"_ she pronounced each of the words with care, making the sentence sound musical, " _Wen faad meyz nol ni vukein nuz d-"_ She stopped then, because that last word suddenly grew to a full-blown fire, and soon she could see the tendrils of light and smoke creeping into her, warming up her insides.

Embla closed her eyes and felt things fall into place in her mind, thoughts and emotions connecting into a single powerful concept marked by the runes now burning themselves into her vision. She shivered when they finally went away, realizing she'd stopped talking mid-sentence.

"Did you remember a word?"

"No," she murmured. "No, not exactly. Mirmulnir didn't know this word – or, or if he did, he didn't know it like this. No, I think – I think I learned it myself."

"What word is it?"

 _"Drem,"_ she whispered, feeling it roll of her tongue, taking all her breath even though it was so short. Serana recoiled as if hit, gasping, and suddenly her posture shattered, eyes wide, and it was finally there – the vulnerability, the surprise, that same shred of humanity that prevented her from releasing her arrow when they first met.

Serana snuck a hand to her nape, pulled her in and kissed her.

Her body reacted almost against her will, muscles tensing as if she'd just been shocked, a wave of pleasure so strong that for a moment she forgot how to speak. Her pulse quickened, and she let herself be pressed against the stone slab, silencing thoughts about heresy, her hand touching Serana's waist, lips moving against hers –

Embla pulled away and pushed her back gently with a hand on her sternum. It took all of her self-control, and then some.

 _Daedra and divines have mercy._

The vampire tilted her head, more bewildered than hurt. "You don't want it?"

"That's not it," she replied, feeling her blood run hot, reminding her that she definitely did want it. "You look like the kind of person who will tear my heart to pieces."

"Children of the forest," she whispered. "Good instincts." Serana traced Embla's jawline with her index finger, nail scraping lightly against her skin.

She shivered. They locked eyes and she felt it again – a mixture of fear and excitement, except part of her rebelled against it now, just like it did when she fought the dragon, a part of her which was tired of being afraid, a part incredibly angry at it.

Embla grabbed Serana's wrist. "You're not the scariest thing out there." She raised her other hand and placed it on the vampire's cheek, then ran it down the curve of her neck. "And I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be."

It felt like a challenge, and that was what finally did it for her. Embla leaned in and kissed her, aggressively so, tugging on her hair and pressing their bodies together, resting her weight on the other's chest until Serana fell, her back on the snow, and she climbed on top of her and held her face, and kissed her again.

Serana huffed against her lips, making Embla shake. _Oh fuck me,_ she thought, trailing kisses down her jaw and then her throat, then pressing her lips on the space between her collarbones. Serana's nails dug on her chest. The blood on her veins felt like fire.

 _This isn't me._ She moved away, sitting on the other's lap, catching her breath. _This isn't right._

Serana pushed herself up to meet her lips, leaning on her elbows, then pulled back.

"Say it again. The word."

It was hard to find it again. She had to search in her mind, through a haze of anger and desire that seemed like a wall of flames.

" _Drem,_ " she repeated, and Serana closed her eyes and sighed. She was thankful for it – it made her feel like herself again. Calmer. Kinder.

"What does it mean?"

Embla moved back so she sat on the steps of the engraved stone, then helped Serana up. "It means…" she thought about it. "Staying in bed on a cold morning. Or having a hot bath after a long day. Or – or the feeling you get when you first see snow, or when you can smell the damp earth after rain." She held Serana's hand, stared at it. "It's… how you looked when I first saw you. And how you looked for a moment tonight. It means not being afraid."

"It's a good word," she murmured, and Embla felt something on her heart tighten.

"Do you want to hear it one more time?"

"Yes," Serana moved closer. "And then hold me."

Embla did as she was told, leaning her back against the tablet. She let Serana tuck her head under her chin, occasionally toying with her hair, fingers numb with the cold. She didn't complain. She didn't ask any of the hundreds of questions running though her head. She waited and waited, until she heard the other speak again.

"I'm so sorry."

Embla could tell it wasn't directed at her.

 _Haunted._

"It's okay." She said anyway, then kissed her scalp. "You're okay. I'm – I'm sorry, too."

Serana looked up at her, expression unreadable. "You'll be the end of me, dragonborn," she turned back to the monastery before Embla could protest. "We should leave. I don't think this is a good place for either of us to be."

"Yeah. I don't think I can back to sleep now."

Neither of them moved. Serana pressed her back against her chest and she absently counted her breathing, resting her chin on the other's shoulder as she did it. It was slower than the usual person – maybe six or seven times per minute. She was cold, too, though not as cold as Embla would have expected her to be.

 _Not like a crocodile,_ she thought, and the idea amused her so much she snorted.

Serana turned and gave her a quizzical look.

"I thought you'd feel cold like – like a reptile in the snow would. You know, more or less the temperature of the environment around them. But it turns out you just feel like a cold person."

"Like a _reptile?"_ she scowled. "You thought I'd be like a reptile? You've never met a vampire before?"

"I've never _cuddled_ with a vampire before," she snapped, then felt heat rise up her cheeks.

"How would you rate the experience?"

"It's, um." She cleared her throat. "Not terrible."

"Not terrible," Serana repeated, arching an eyebrow.

"Better than expected. A bit chilly, but I haven't been eaten yet. I could do it again. How would you rate the experience of cuddling a dragonborn?"

"Very hot," she replied ambiguously. "And annoyingly prude. Less sex than I expected. Haven't been set on fire yet. I could do it again, if asked nicely. Maybe."

"I'm – I'm shy." She was blushing again. "And, yeah. A bit prude. I won't – not like this. Not on the cold on top of a creepy monastery where I killed a man. We barely know each other – you – you don't know me. At all. And most of what I know about you comes from books detailing how dangerous you are. For all I know you'll fuck me then rip my head off after."

"You really think so?"

"No, but that's what the books would tell me." She considered her next words. "Look this – I'm not going to lie, it was nice. We could, um, get to know each other better, I think. Maybe have another drink. I don't know. You're four thousand years old. I shouldn't be the old-fashioned one."

"I'm a _vampire_. We exist exclusively for sex, drinking blood and terrifying mortals. But if that's what you want, well, fine." She shrugged. "I'll court you."

 _What_

"I don't think –"

"Oh, no, I will," Serana interrupted. "I'll court you like the princess I am. I never really had a chance to do it, now that I think of it. It will be fun."

"I – Aren't I a plebeian?"

"Arguably the rightful heir to the Cyrodiilian throne and for some, the whole of Tamriel. Can you think of a more thrilling tale?"

Embla did not dignify that with an answer. The two stood, made their way back to the room as quietly as they could, then grabbed their things and set off into the night.


	8. Chapter 8

"Someone's coming. I think it's your friends."

"What are you talking ab – oh. Oh, fuck." Embla sat up with a start, dusting herself, quickly throwing on a coat. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"I have a feeling I'm missing information here," Serana commented, still sitting on the furs under her tent. "I was under the impression you were working for these people."

Embla stood, ran a hand through her hair and sighed, mind reeling. She stared in the distance, where she could see the definite shine of a Thalmor brigand's eagle-shaped helmets. She counted five, maybe six of them, and it had been over two weeks since she sent her emergency missive. She should have expected to meet them on the way, but the idea had escaped her thoughts entirely. She dug through her bags, looking for her crest.

"I was on the vampire investigation," she explained as she searched. "I basically abandoned post to come to High Hrothgar with some sloppy excuses about chasing a dead man I told them was the dragonborn. But I went away without official leave. I essentially deserted."

 _Again._

Serana tilted her head. "Well, you're back into the vampire investigation," she gestured towards herself with her palms. "I'm the vampire investigation."

"Well yes but – oh here it is," she picked up the badge that marked her as a member of the Dominion's army. As opposed to Altmer's crests, which were made from silver and got gold plated details the higher the rank, hers was made from bone, though the gold accents which marked her as a high officer worked the same way. "It's too suspicious. They'll never believe I met you on coincidence."

"Because it wasn't." Serana didn't stand, watching her intently. "It was Aedric play. That's how they work. Daedra are straightforward, Aedra are… patient. Thousands of years micromanaging the tiniest, seemingly unrelated details, only so they can have everything elegantly fall into place as they desire. I've lived long enough to see it happen. To know when it's happening. Used to be a fascination of mine try to track the actions of the Aedra down."

Embla strapped the badge to her belt, then swung her bow over her shoulder. The soldiers were getting closer – Altmer, all of them. She mentally cursed. "I don't doubt it, it just doesn't help my case. I'll try to talk them down but they probably have a detainment order and they'll want to drag me all the way to the Embassy in the asscrack of Solitude."

"Right, about that –"

"Hush. Don't you dare dropping another problem on my lap before I deal with this." She rubbed her face with her palm, thinking. "I'll make something up. Stay there. I'll be right back."

"I could deal with them," Serana offered.

"If by 'deal' you mean violently murder then absolutely not. Just follow my lead if you show up at all."

Before the vampire could reply, she walked away from their camp to meet the soldiers, waiting in place once she was sure they'd spotted her.

"May the light of Auri-el shine upon you," she greeted in Altmeri when they were within earshot.

"And grant us the wisdom to know ourselves," one of the men replied, stepping forward. His eyes drifted to the badge on her belt, shaped like an eagle which represented the Dominion, backed by the branches and leaves that symbolized Valenwood. "Report, officer."

She spotted his own crest hanging from the shoulder strap of his armor.

 _Oh in the name of a Khajiit's barbed penis,_ she thought. _That is a lot of gold. Only two people in the province this guy could be and since he's not Ambassador Elenwen then he's –_

"Embla Woodwalker, sir," she paused, stalled for time so she could make up a story. "University of Alinor, department of biology and medicine, 377th year. Valenwood Seventh Battalion, intelligence division. Honored to meet you, High Justiciar Ondolemar."

"Ah. The wood elf. At ease, soldier." His words did not make her any more comfortable, but he seemed satisfied at being recognized, which Embla took as a good sign, since the way to an Altmer's good graces was usually through their ego. "I trust there's a good explanation for your recent behavior."

"Sir," she nodded, wearing her best professional guise. "It is true I let stress cloud my judgment and acted impulsively, and I now recognize my mistake. As informed, I gave chase to a man I presumed to be the dragonborn summoned by the Graybeards. However, things have taken an unexpected turn which worked well to further my designed goals."

"Oh? Care to elaborate?"

"On my way to High Hrothgar, I crossed paths with Serana Volkihar once again," she let the half-truths roll off her tongue, filling in the space between them with lies. "She too heard the Greybeard's call and seeks the dragonborn for her own reasons."

"What does a vampire want with the dragonborn?"

"To eliminate him, sir," Embla tapped her finger on her belt. "Since the dragonborn are supposedly blessed by Akatosh, she believes having his head would be a fitting way to reenter the vampire aristocracy scene. She claims the current agitation is secondary to power disputes among her clan, which she plans to settle by replacing her father in the leadership position."

Ondolemar narrowed his eyes. "It seems Auri-el shines his light in twisted ways. For now, at least, her interests align with the Dominion's. I assume you and her have kept in contact?"

"We're currently traveling together. We're camped not far from here. She was asleep when I left her."

"I see. And what do you judge of her character, officer?"

She clicked her tongue. "She's labile, as literature reported, and she tends to respond violently to perceived threats. Regardless, we have established what I believe to be a good relationship. An opinion, if I may?"

"Granted," he nodded.

"I believe there are benefits to be reaped by supporting her. She is fairly apathetic about the lives of mortals and finds the ruckus raised by her kin to be an inconvenience. She would… put things in order. An allegiance seems possible and it would do well for the Thalmor's image." She paused to let that sink in.

Ondolemar's expression was intrigued. "And the terms of such allegiance would entail…"

"That we let her take credit for eliminating the dragonborn, should we be the ones to do it – which would be convenient for us as well, I believe. In return, I could convince her to let us take credit for the end of vampire raids. Stage a battle, maybe. I presume she has plenty political enemies she wouldn't mind setting up for sacrifice."

"Indeed," he broke eye contact, staring off into the distance. She could almost see the gears in his head turning. "Vampires murder the Nordic hero of legends. The Thalmor steps up and defeats the vampire menace. An elegant solution." He smiled then, malicious. "Well played, officer. Permission granted to execute the plan. You will report to me directly, from now on. Secure a good relationship with the asset. Propose a deal. Keep me informed."

"Yes, sir."

"What is your current search route?"

"We were about to go up the seven thousand steps, but we were held back by criminals on the roads so we might have missed him entirely."

"That will be unnecessary. My troops and I will cover the steps. Gather information in Ivarstead instead. Find him, or find where he would go next. I'll collect your findings from the innkeeper, when I return."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed." He said, then turned his back and walked away without any further words, his troops following. She watched him go, the anxiety and stress of the situation finally hitting her now that she had it defused. She rewarded herself with the thought that the Altmer were probably suffering just as much as she did to climb the steps.

The helmets were barely specks of reflected light in the horizon when Serana placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Aaah! _Slek!_ " She jumped, and then resisted the urge to smack the smug smile off her face.

"I'll admit, I'm impressed," Serana said, not moving her hand. "You threw them off and got not only a pardon but also a white card. For someone so young, you're unusually good at this." She took a step so they were facing each other. "You have talent."

"I'm sixty-four," she protested weakly, growing flustered when Serana placed another hand on her other shoulder.

"I'm four or five thousand, who knows at this point," the vampire retorted, twirling a lock of Embla's hair between her fingers. "You're competent. You keep your cool. You improvise well. All good traits. Someone like you? Could be good to have around."

 _Is she flirting_

"Or bad to have around. Real bad. A liar and a cheat."

Serana furrowed her brow and cupped Embla's face. They made eye contact, and the vampire held it for long, enough that Embla felt her heart race and the distinct sensation that these amber eyes were peering into her very soul –

 _souls?_

"Not you, no," Serana said finally, backing away, giving her room to breathe. "You're soft. Too soft for this. Makes me wonder how you got caught up in it. A liar and a cheat, yes, but one who won't release an arrow on a vampire. Interesting. We could make it happen, you know."

"Huh?"

"What you said." She shrugged. "Your deal with the Thalmor. We can make it happen. Find a scapegoat, name him dragonborn. I'll play pretend and take your deal. I'll have my… lackeys end this circus going on in Skyrim and let the elves say they did it. Get rid of Vingalmo while I'm at it." She raised a finger, "Although that guy fully intends to take credit for the idea, as I am sure you noticed. So I could throw you a promotion in my terms, if you want."

 _This is a test,_ some deep instinct told her, although she couldn't pinpoint at first what exactly was being tested. She took her time to think, but she was tired from the walk and longing for a night on a real bed and a good meal. "I don't know what sort of information you are trying to fish out." Just as she said it, it clicked. "Wait, I do. You want to know what's going on between me and the army. Obviously. Divines, I'm tired."

Serana pressed her lips in a tight line and sighed. "We can stop for the night in Ivarstead. You have to make up a report anyhow. But yes, I'd like to know about your situation with the Dominion," she paused, "If that's all right with you, of course."

The two walked back to their camp and began packing up. Embla broke down her tent and then kicked dirt into the fire, watching it sizzle. "I deserted."

"Why?"

"I don't – I don't know." Embla picked up her backpack and started walking. "I support the Thalmor. I think they're mostly a good thing. Tamriel would be better place under the Dominion, even if the Altmer walk around with poles on their asses."

"But?"

"But the elven supremacy thing doesn't sit right with me. I don't like the sound of it. Besides, people should want us there because we brought good things to them, not because they're scared of our army."

"Good things like ending the vampire menace?" Serana gave her a coy smile.

"And ending the Oblivion crisis," Embla muttered under he breath. "And bringing Masser and Secunda back. All of which were definitely works of the Thalmor. Definitely."

"You would pick a choice based on lies over a decision through straightforward fight?"

"In a heartbeat," Embla picked up her pace, backpack clanking. She turned to face her. "I'm a physician, Serana. I took an oath. Life – human or mer life, all life – is precious. War is just people senselessly slaughtering one another and what _for?_ "

"Ideals? Principles?"

"The whims of the powerful?" she countered.

"Shouldn't a man be allowed to lay his life for what he believes in?"

"No!" She made an exasperated gesture. "No, he should talk it out with others in a civil manner! Or solve it with money, or a fistfight, or yes, even lies. But no killing! I know it sounds hypocritical for someone who's in the army and yes, damn it, I have killed people. But every single time there's another choice I'll take it, and that matters."

Serana scoffed, then shook her head. "You're in the army to… not kill people."

"To spare people whenever I can, yes. And that turns out to be most times, if you're willing to put in the effort."

"You're a strange one, dragonborn."

"No," she retorted, halting. Serana kept going for a bit before noticing she'd stopped and turned back to her.

"What?"

"No!" Embla crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not strange. I'm a foreigner from two thousand years in your future. I come from a place where we bathe every day, no one dies from rockjoint and if someone is stabbed everybody gets _really upset!"_

 _What was this outburst_

Serana blinked. "Are you…okay?"

Embla hid her face behind her hands, rubbing it. "No. No, I don't think I am. The stress of the situation is really getting to me, I'm – I'm sorry. I killed a man up there," she admitted, and saying it felt like a weight lifted from her chest. She touched her throat, running her fingers over unscarred skin. "On the monastery. With my voice. And then before that, in the cave, your Moth Priest. It makes me sick to think about."

"Oh." The vampire took a couple steps, closing the distance between them. Serana took her hands. "I'm sorry."

"Do you care, or do you just want to bone me?" she snapped, then winced. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that, and you didn't deserve it. Thanks for being here for me. Dagon's hairy asshole, I need rest."

"Give me your things," Serana made a beckoning gesture. "I'll carry them for you. We're almost at the city."

"What, no, I'm fine. You're right, we're almost there."

"Embla." She arched an eyebrow. "You're about to fall down from exhaustion. Let me take your luggage."

"I'm not going to overburden you because I can't handle my things."

" _Overburden –_ do you realize how strong I am?" Serana placed a hand on her waist, then another. "I can lift you and your luggage. I can lift a _horse_. I've never tried to lift a mammoth, but there's a good chance I can. It's all the same to me. Give me the luggage." She slid her hands up to the straps of the backpack. "Hand it over."

"No."

"Look, I'm just going to say it. You're tiny. You look like you're going to be squeezed under the weight of it. Don't be stubborn."

"I'm not tiny!"

Serana grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her close so that their bodies touched. The vampire towered over her by almost a head, but she refused to look up. Serana snuck a hand under her chin and tilted her head.

"You. Are. Tiny." A smirk. The 'I-am-right-and-I-know-it' smug smirk. "Just give me the luggage, or I'll carry you with it. It will be very humiliating. Hand over the things."

"No."

"Why," Serana rolled her eyes. "Why are you like this. Why are you being so difficult?"

 _Why indeed,_ she asked herself, her back aching with the weight. "You're – domineering and cocky. And I'm not a pushover, and I can't let you think I'm a pushover because there's no turning back from that. If I do you'll just walk all over me like a rug."

The vampire was still for a second, then burst out laughing. Embla felt her cheeks warm with a blush and resumed her walk, faster this time, trying to put distance between them. Her laughter made Embla want her. That was an issue. Serana jogged after her with an irritating ease that rubbed in how easily she could indeed carry both their backpacks. "Hey, wait! You're not wrong. I just thought it was funny."

"Of course I'm right, I know your type," she muttered. "I'm a spy, remember? Schmoozing with the high society is part of my job."

"And what, pray tell, is my type?"

She was taking way too much amusement from the situation. Embla scowled. "The type everyone is too scared to speak up against."

"But not you."

Embla stopped, turned around, grabbed Serana by the collar and yanked her close. She did not make for a very intimidating figure and she knew it, but she also knew it was all about the attitude. "I could burn you to a crisp," she hissed, and right as she said it, she felt it was true. "So no, I'm not."

"Uuuunderstood," the vampire nodded, a twinkle of amusement on her eyes. "Never doubted it, really. I'll bear it in mind though. I'll… be expecting you to contradict me."

"Good."

"So can I carry your luggage now?"

 _Night mother's tits_

Embla handed over her backpack without a word and resumed her way to Ivarstead, refusing to look at Serana's grin on the way.

* * *

"Do you think I can stay the night here?" Serana asked, leaning against the wall. Embla sat on the bed, drying her hair with a towel. "I'll just place the bedroll on the corner."

"What, they're booked full and there's only one room?" The elf asked, shaking her head fast to put her hair back in place. Serana let her gaze wander over her skin, tracing the curves with her eyes, inspecting the intricate tattoos on her arm –

 _want want want want want want want_

 _Yes, but she's difficult,_ she told the Voice. Embla looked at her, and Serana realized she had been asked a question. "Not really." She shrugged. "I just…"

 _coward coward you're a coward you're scared you're_

The elf narrowed her eyes. "It's okay. You can stay, no problem. Are you –" she hesitated. Serana gave her a moment to think. "Remember back with the Moth Priest?"

"Yes?" She tapped her fingers on her arm.

"You were, uh. You were a bit spooked then, right?" She tossed the towel to a corner of the room and leaned forward. "I mean. When I first saw you, you made quick work of some mean vampires and even meaner gargoyles. But with the priest you – you were not okay."

"Mmh."

Embla stood. "I think what I mean is, well. Is there something bothering you? I have a feeling something might be, but I can't quite tell."

 _don't tell her._

"I –"

 _DON'T TELL HER._

"Serana?" She was moving closer, and Serana could feel her skin begin to warm up. "Whatever it is, maybe I can help."

"I – I'm –"

 _DON'T TELL HER DON'T TELL HER DON'T TELL HER DON'T_

She winced and covered her ears.

"You're hearing – Serana, what are you hearing?"

 _SLUT YOU'RE A SLUT YOU'RE A WENCH YOU'RE A BITCH WHO CAN'T KEEP HER MOUTH SHUT YOU'RE –_

"He's in my head," she said, crouching, closing her eyes. "He's in my head he's IN MY HEAD all the time talking he's talking he's here he's –"

Silence.

 _Oh gods_

She opened her eyes. "You should go," she said, standing, backing away. "You have to go. It's – it's angry now. I shouldn't have told you. I shouldn't have –"

 _Thump-thump._

Her hand flew to her chest, clutching, and she made a disgruntled noise of pain. "Please. It's going to get bad and I don't – I don't wanna hurt you. You have to go."

 _"_ Serana –"

 _Thump-thump._

She felt tears fill her eyes, tears of fear and guilt. She held her breath and grit her teeth. "I'm so sorry."

 _Thump-thump._

Serana heard a distant, high-pitched scream, and then laughter. It was coming, she could feel it, her dead heart felt it and it sped up just like it had on the last day it ever beat, all those years ago, the single day she could never forget –

 _vermin fucking vermin disgusting whore where are you come to me_

 _Kill her._

"No," she snapped. She felt her skin crawl and then there was pain, ripping pain, claws over her skin tearing it apart, nails of a beast that was dark and shifting and monstrous and she could not describe –

 _come to me come to me there's no running away I'll catch you and when I catch you I will make you beg and I will make you scream_

 _kill her kill her kill her kill her_

"No!" Blood on her hands – her own blood, from where her own nails had bitten deep. She was crying and she couldn't stop and she couldn't _see_ , the world around her a blur. Things were touching her everywhere, things she didn't want, contact she did not allow, pulling at her clothes and brushing against her skin, slick and sticky and so, so painful –

 _your whore mother thought she could keep me away_

 _thump-thump-thump-thump_

Her hands were burning, and for a moment she had the nauseating sensation of being on two places at once, until she reoriented herself and she saw her grip on the dragonborn's throat, crushing her windpipe while she struggled, clutching at her wrist.

 _no one can keep me away nothing can keep me away you are mine YOU ARE MINE_

Embla let go of her and made a gesture. Serana noticed one second too late what she was signing, and she braced herself when she saw sparks dance between the other's fingers. Embla pressed an open palm against her chest and discharged.

All her muscles contracted at once and she fell to the ground, convulsing once, then again. It was not nearly enough to stop her, and she recovered just as fast, sitting up, tasting her own bitter blood on her lips from where her fangs had cut her. Thermal readings pulsed over her vision every couple seconds, and she could see the heat waves from the dragonborn's heart.

 _like it is this how you like it is this how you like it is this how you_

Serana didn't move. She didn't want to move. She sat there and watched Embla cough and gasp, hand raised, sparks still cackling dangerously up and down her arm. She sat and she waited because she knew that was someone who could –

 _(burn you to a crisp)_

\- burn her through and through, burn the demons from her insides like only dragonfire could, burn her body and her bones and her _soul_ until there was nothing left and she was finally free –

 _never be free you will never be free your body is mine your soul is mine WHORE YOU ARE MINE_

She covered her ears again, and she saw the dragonborn open her lips and her pupils contract and then dilate on that strange way they did when she was about to Speak, making vertical slits like a reptile, her aura like light through a thousand crystals, and she waited for the pain, and then the release.

 _Thump-thump._

 _"Drem."_

Warmth washed over her, like being plunged into the hot springs of Eastmarch, warmth that seeped deep into her body and rolled over her skin and made her feel calm and quiet and _clean_. She heard the Voice hiss and spit and curse, and then it withered, and then there was silence.

Embla skidded her way, sliding to her knees next to her, wrapping her arms around her and whispering things in a language she did not understand.

"I'm sorry," she managed, pressing her forehead against the other's shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I didn't – I didn't want –"

"Shhh. It's okay, _varla._ It's okay."

Bosmeris. She was humming to her in bosmeris. A song – a lullaby. It told the story of a little wood elf boy and how his mom taught him to ward off the monsters behind the trees and in the caves and in the dark.

" – scared of the dark," she mumbled. "I'm scared of the dark. That's why I wanted to stay over. I'm – I don't know why. It doesn't make sense. I think I've just always been."

"It makes plenty sense." Embla was still holding her, and she _was_ tiny, and it looked a bit absurd but she didn't care because the elf was warm and she was cold and scared.

 _(guilt)_

"I should go," she moved, sitting up straight. "I'll – there's probably still a room or two left. I'll camp outside otherwise."

"No. Stay."

Something on her heart tightened, and then she felt angry. "Why? Embla, I'm not in control. You saw it. I almost killed you. I could wake up and snap your neck and you would never know."

Embla grabbed her by the shoulder. It burned harder and Serana could tell she was angry, too.

"Because – because that's what he wants, see? He wants me to send you away. To punish you. And I won't, cause – cause it wasn't your fault." Her golden eyes felt scorching. "It wasn't your fault. And he wants to make you feel lonely and like a monster and I – I won't do that. Cause you're not a monster, you're not, and if I do that, he wins."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Embla placed an index finger on her lips. "I know. It's stupid and dangerous and, and reckless. But you know what? I don't care. I – I – I –" she took a deep breath. "I've been running all my life and now I got this – this _bala_ , power, and I didn't ask for it but I have it, and now I have it I'm – _abagaianye –_ I'm not gonna be a coward with it, yeah?"

Embla's Cyrodiilic had both a stutter and an accent that got considerably more pronounced when she was upset and were at the worst she'd ever seen, so Serana didn't interrupt. She had to strain to make out the words.

"It's a bad thing. It's – it's a bad thing being done to you and, and you're a victim and it's not your fault and if I have the, the _bala,_ if I can do something about it and I don't do it, then I might as well be hurting you myself. And I can do something. So if you leave I'll – I'll – _hyliatni –_ after you. Go after you. And I'll, I'll say it again a thousand times for you if you need it. I'll – I'll –" she gestured vaguely, anguish clear on her face, and then made a dismissive gesture and pulled her into a tight hug instead.

"Okay," Serana murmured, hugging her back. They were shaking, but she couldn't tell which of them was responsible for it. Maybe both. "Okay," she repeated, and felt herself tear up again.

"I'm sorry for _graxifalas Cyrodiliis,_ " she babbled. "I don't – I don't usually get this nervous but when I do it's hard to speak."

"It's not so bad," she reassured. "I know a little Bosmeris anyway."

" _Krosis_ ," she mumbled.

"That's not Bosmeris," Serana pointed out.

"No, I think – I think that's sorry in dragon." Embla stood up and pulled her to the bed. They sat side by side, shoulders touching. "Have you ever been to Valenwood?"

 _wood_

"No," she replied, ignoring the returning whispers of the Voice. "We can't move around much without creating huge commotions among vampire society and Valenwood has its own tribes. The Telboth and the Yekef and the Keerilth – all rather strange. Valenwood is, um, a strange place. No offense."

Her smile told Serana she was more amused than anything. "Yes. I'm from the Deep Green. My tribe was isolated and very adherent to the Green Pact." She traced the tattoo highest on her shoulder. It was shaped like branches which crossed themselves in the middle, making a couple X shapes. "That's the Pact symbol. Do you know of it?"

"You can't eat plants," Serana searched her memory. "I don't know the specifics."

 _plants the plants the plants the tree and the lettuce and the cabbage and the potato and the_

"Do not harm the forests of Valenwood," she recited. "Do not eat anything made from plant life. Eat only meat. When enemies are conquered, their meat must be eaten, not left to rot. Do not kill wastefully. Do not take the shape of beasts."

"Cannibals," she noted, and Embla rolled her eyes.

"Yes, cannibals. My tribe was strict but most Bosmeri don't follow that bit anymore." She kicked off her shoes and crossed her legs on top of the bed. "I left the Deep Green when I was twenty-one. I went to Falinesti first, it's, um, it moves around so it can be hard for outsiders to find. I lived there for about a year and then I went to Alinor to study. I was twenty-five when I tried my first fruit. It was an apple. I love apples."

 _apple pineapple apple pineapple apple_

"How did it feel, breaking the pact?"

Embla stared up at the roof. "Scary. Liberating. If I – if I go back to the Green, I think I would adhere again. Can't help it. But out here it's okay. I like salad. Dunno if I want to go back. I miss the jungle, but it was also… restrictive. Suffocating. Think I might end up returning to Alinor, it was where I was the happiest. Weather's nice too. Anyway."

The elf took Serana's hand wordlessly. Serana let her interlace their fingers. "Anyway?"

"I'm telling you this for a reason. You said you are scared of the dark." She rubbed her thumb on Serana's palm. "Deep Green's a dark place. We can't harm plant life so we mostly rely on the moons for light. Also, torchbugs and glowing mushrooms and lichen. But we're good on moving with only sound."

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied, trying to figure out the point of the story. "I have pretty good night vision, though. And I can see heat waves as well."

"Mmm. Green Pact's really important to us," Embla insisted. "I grew up with it, and with stories about it, and how things that are dangerous to the Green are bad and I should stay away from them."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Said you were scared of the dark." Embla turned to her, tucked a strand of copper hair behind her ear and smiled. "I'm scared of fire. So I guess we've both been dealt really shitty hands."

 _irony poetry majority security therapy similarity regularity_

"…we are useless," Serana concluded. "Fantastic."

Embla laughed, and after a moment, Serana found herself laughing too.

* * *

"I can't believe this. I cannot believe this. I just can't." Embla bitched, her horse trotting at a steady pace next to Serana's. "Really? We're headed to the asscrack of Solitude? Where it's always miserable and freezing and most importantly, where I could have hitched a ride to on High Justiciar Ondolemar's fancy caravan? That's where we are headed?"

"I tried to tell you, but you were too grumpy to listen," Serana reminded her. "What did you tell your superiors anyway?"

"That you seduced the innkeeper into telling you the Dragonborn was after an Elder Scroll, and now we are riding to Winterhold to see if the College has any information about it," she explained. "Which, mind you, I think we should do at some point. They might know something."

"Way ahead of you. I sent my own letters before we went up the mountain, so my people are probably already on it. Might even have returned from Winterhold already. I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

"Right, so, about that," Embla thought for a second on how to voice approximately half a thousand things worrying her. "I'm going to meet your parents?"

Serana made a strangled sound of alarm. "Oh dear daedra, not if I can help it, no."

"But we're headed to your place," she insisted. "Do I get to see your bedroom? Use your toilets? Borrow your clothes? Play with your dogs?"

"You want to pet Garmr and CuSith?"

 _Wait what_

"…you actually have dogs?"

"Well, um. I suppose you could call them that." Embla turned to her to see any hints of joke on her face, but Serana seemed serious.

"I could call them dogs," she repeated. "What… else could I call them?"

"Well, they're… definitely dogs. But with more, you know," She gestured towards her mouth, showing her fangs. "More teeth. A lot more teeth. And glowing blue eyes. And they can, um, breathe ice. But – but they're good boys. They don't seem friendly at first but they're real sweethearts."

 _Like their owner,_ she thought to herself, and immediately felt her cheeks warm up. "What are they, exactly?" She made a point to look away.

"Death hounds. Like hellhounds but… icy. Not the death hounds you're used to," she added. "They're not… thin and furless and half decomposing with bits of skin hanging off. Garm and CuSith are just unusually big dogs."

"But with more teeth."

"But with more teeth," she agreed. "But you can't really tell from a distance. And Garmr grows the fluffiest winter coat, and when I came back CuSith was so excited to see me he wagged his tail so much it knocked a glass right out of Vingalmo's hand. That was fantastic."

"I'm still caught up on the lots of teeth part," Embla mumbled.

"Hey, give them a chance. I have scary teeth too."

"Exactly! How often have you seen me trying to pet you?"

"Way less often than I wish, to be honest." Serana smirked. "I'd like you to meet my dogs. They don't bite unless told to, I promise."

"You want me to meet your dogs, but not your parents." Embla spurred her horse. "Is that what you call courting? I feel part of the family already."

"You have to understand things aren't quite so simple. How am I supposed to introduce you? Father, this is the demigod child of the Sun, our mortal enemy, and I have _the hots_ for her?" She shrugged. "Just think about it. Would you introduce me to your parents?"

"I don't have parents," she replied. "My entire tribe cannibalized itself in a horrific ritual of which I was the sole survivor."

"I'm…sorry?" Serana blinked, and the way she seemed caught off guard and bewildered by it made Embla snort.

"It's okay. It was a long time ago." She shrugged. "But I bet they would approve of you."

"You think so?"

"Yeah." She smirked. "The vampire thing is… less of a big deal to _Bosmeri_ than it is to most other races, for a few reasons, the most obvious being we don't see the drinking blood aspect of it as inherently evil. We don't like the Telboth in particular, but that's entirely warranted."

"Telboth," Serana muttered under her breath. "The ones who eat children?"

"And take their places, and eventually murder the whole tribe, yes." Embla stared at the road ahead. "But as far as I'm concerned the Volkihar have… strange ice powers? And, um, live on dens under haunted icebergs, only leaving them to feed?"

The vampire rolled her eyes. "That's over exaggerated," she scoffed. "The castle is on top of the frozen lake, not under it. And father is really… particular about the aesthetics of things. We don't live on an evil cave with blood and bones all around or sleep in coffins or anything. That's how rabid lowlife vampires live. We're pure bloods. Castle Volkihar looks like what you'd expect from any nobility castle, but with less windows."

"Can you really reach through ice without breaking it?"

"Not in this shape," she replied, but didn't offer any further explanation.

Embla could tell it was a topic she was uncomfortable with, so she dropped it. They rode in silence for a while, and she let the clopping of hooves lull her into a trance, the kind of aloof state she used to get when she ran through the Green, feet moving almost on their own. She let go of the reins and closed her eyes, placing a hand on the neck of her horse.

She felt it – him – felt his muscles, felt the air enter and leave his lungs, felt his legs move and felt her own weight on his back. He had, like all creatures, a name – a name which wasn't made of just sounds but rather a mixture of smells and colors and noises that described him. She could never say his name to another, never reproduce it, but right then, touching him with her mind, she called him by it.

The horse made an appreciative sound and picked up the pace. Embla patted him and unfastened the bridle, then pulled it out entirely after a bit of a struggle and latched it to the saddle. The horse kept going on the road, as if of his own will, though every now and then she'd click her tongue one way or the other to signal a direction.

"How do you Bosmer even do that?"

"Bit of politeness with those serving you goes a long way, princess," she answered cryptically, smirking.

"If I say please, can I undress you like that?" Embla choked on air and burst into a fit of coughing. Serana laughed and spurred her horse closer. "That's a unique opportunity, mind you. I'm not usually the one begging."

Embla found herself caught between blushing and answering on par. She would go with the latter, if she could help it. Since she couldn't, she went with both. "First of all I'm not serving you. I'm not your subject. So you might have to get used to it. Comes with the whole 'equal footing' package."

"Psh." The vampire did not bother to hide her amusement. Serana looked away, at the horizon – at the setting sun. "You ever miss them? Your parents?"

"Bosmeri upbringing is more of a collective effort," she replied, dodging the question. "It's not so parent-centered as it is for other races. If anything, we're closer to beastfolk in that aspect. The whole tribe raises the children."

"Well then, your tribe. Your family. You ever miss them?"

"It's been a long time," Embla replied. The horse sensed her turmoil, and she ran her hand through his mane.

"No, it hasn't."

It wasn't a question, and she didn't expect that – that statement, that truth, coming from someone who had the right to it – someone who had lived for so much longer. It hit her, and it hurt. She grit her teeth, took a deep breath, then let the air out slowly. "Yes. Don't you?"

Serana didn't answer at first. "It's been a long time."

"Was it time enough?"

"I don't think so," she looked away. "I don't think it ever will be. I don't think I'm ready – to end my father. To find out what happened to my mother."

 _You'll never be ready,_ Embla thought, but didn't say, because she'd been through that, and she knew how it felt. She hesitated for a second, and then she said the exact words she'd needed to hear in the past, when she watched the world she knew fall apart. "You're not alone. Won't be alone."

Serana turned to her with an expression she'd never seen before – a frown, cold an analytical, as if she was for the first time assessing her as a threat. "That was the right thing to say."

"I know."

"Was it also true?"

"If – if you want it to be, I think it could." She held her breath, anxiety squeezing at her chest, feeling suddenly more vulnerable than she had in all her years in the army. "I don't know. Maybe. We – I don't know. _Slek._ It's obviously complicated. For the both of us. But – but I. I'd want to. If you want to. I mean –"

"Yeah," Serana interrupted. "We – we can think of something, I'm sure. In the future. Right now though, just… thank you for saying it."

The pressure on her chest grew stronger. "You're welcome."

* * *

"I thought you said no skeletons!" Embla yelled, dodging the whooshing blade of a reanimated corpse. She kicked it on the abdomen, hissing with disgust when her boot hit rotten flesh with a _squelch._ It was useless, and the creature raised its blade to strike again.

"Garmr!" Serana called, laughing, and a second later, a massive black shadow hit the corpse and sent it flying so fast it hit the opposing wall. Embla took the opportunity to yank a throwing knife from her belt and send it zooming. It hit the skeleton between the eyes, which lost their glow.

She heard the groan of another undead, followed by the _whoosh_ of what she presumed to be yet another massive icicle. Sure enough, when she turned around, she found a still moving corpse pegged to the wall, reaching out, nails scratching the ice, whatever was left of its intestines rolling over and dripping on the floor. The stench was enough to make her eyes water.

Embla covered her nose with her sleeve and retrieved her knife, wiping it on an ancient piece of cloth that was once a banner hanging from the wall. "A castle like any other," she complained. "Very aesthetic. Very clean."

"How was I supposed to know we had a feral vampire on the undercroft?" Serana replied between giggles, raising her palms in the air on a gesture of peace. "I'm so – pffft – I'm so sorry."

She didn't sound sorry. As if to punctuate it, the impaled corpse let out a moan. "Oh gods, just – let me put that thing out of its misery." Embla walked to it, shortsword in hand, and sliced its head clean off with a single choppy movement, hands trembling from the cold, wincing at the sound it made when it hit the floor. "What's so funny anyway?"

"I've never tried so hard to give a good impression," the other explained, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "And failed so miserably. So far we've met a possessed monk, gone to a creepy monastery on top of a freezing mountain, and now there are vampires in my basement, and all I wanted was to take you on a date – CuSith, stop that! Bad dog!"

"Aah!" Embla backpedaled, pulling her hand away, rubbing her palms together to try and dissipate the layer of frost the deathound had breathed on it. "Your dogs hate me!"

CuSith walked back to Serana, wagging its tail with pure undisguised glee. "They do not, they're just protective."

"It was freezing my fingers off!"

"They don't know they're not supposed to do that," the vampire protested, rubbing the hounds behind the ears. "No one in the castle minds when they do."

Embla stared at Garmr, his ice blue eyes glowering right at her. The dog snarled. It did have a _lot_ of teeth. She pointed to it with both her palms. "See?!"

"They'll warm up to you eventually. Figuratively." Serana said, snapping her fingers. The two hounds followed her and she led the way through a series of winding corridors. "I'm sorry about the vampire. He wasn't here when I left – probably someone who escaped from the thrall pens and got turned by accident."

"The thrall _pens?_ " she repeated, a chill crawling up her spine. "You keep _people_ –"

"Yes. I'm sorry." Serana didn't look her way. "I know it's a – a bad thing. A cruel thing. Unnecessary, even. Plenty of people would volunteer for a bite – it's – it feels nice for the bitten. Can feel nice. Depends on the vampire. I – I'm rambling." She sighed. "Once I – when things get solved. I'll get rid of them. Promise."

"I'll take you up on that," Embla hissed, but offered no further comment. It made her angry, like so many other things did, and so she dealt with it the usual way: she shoved it into a corner of her mind and left it there to fester, not thinking about it until it resurfaced in a fit of rage like an erupting volcano. A healthy, adult way to deal with her feelings.

 _"Graxifalas kamlehal,_ " she cursed under her breath.

"I'm sorry," Serana insisted. "I don't – I don't drink much, but there are others who do and – we try to keep a supply, and – I'm making things worse, aren't I?"

"Yes."

"Embla, I'm –"

"It's fine," She snapped, because if she heard one more apology, she was going to lose it. "I'm not going to hold you individually accountable for how a millenary society is run. Just don't bring it up again, unless it's to tell me you fixed it."

"That's fair," she mumbled, then pushed a door open. "We're here."

Embla shivered at the cold wind when she stepped outside, hopping from one foot to the other to warm up. "A garden?"

"Yeah," Serana walked past her, leading the way to the center of the courtyard.

The dogs bolted ahead, barking, running around. Embla took a good look at the place. In a couple corners rested slabs of broken stone that told her the place was going through renewals. The flowerbeds were filled with plants in various states of growth, some budding, some already giving fruits.

"Do you like it?" the vampire asked, eyeing her in an oddly eager manner.

"I do. Didn't know you were into flowers," she walked closer to inspect a few.

"It was my mother's garden," she explained. "Used to be. She was a master, and it was beautiful, but father never comes outside so it just crumbled. Thought I'd clean it up since she's… away. I'm only learning – It's not a shadow of what it was but…"

She didn't finish the sentence, but there was much to be read on that silence. Embla shoved her hands on the pockets of her coat. _But you hope to make it look nice for when she returns,_ she thought. _But you hope to make amends. You hope the two of you can be a family again. Even if it's not perfect, like this garden. You want her to be proud of you. You hope…_

"I think it's beautiful," she smiled, letting it soften her gaze. "Summer's coming. It's all the same miserable cold to me, but the plants know it is time to look pretty, somehow. It'll be fantastic then."

"Thank you." Serana exhaled, visibly relaxing, and Embla saw, or thought she saw –

 _Was that a blush?_

"Hey. Hey! Garmr!" she called, bolting toward the dog. "What do you think you're doing? If you're digging on my Nightshades again, I swear to Bal – oh get back here! Bad dog!"

Embla didn't hold back a chuckle. She shook her head, grinning, watching Serana chase her dogs around the courtyard, trying not to crush the flowers she'd planted, and she felt something. Something warm.

She dealt with it the healthy, adult way and hoped it wouldn't overflow.

"So, where to?" She asked once Serana finally stopped to catch her breath.

"Right, yes, here," she pulled out something from her pocket – a crescent moon shaped crest. "Did you see the sundial? It's actually a moondial. Once we put this in place, it's going to open a secret staircase. I think if there's any clue of where my mother went, it's down there."

"You never followed the passage to the end?"

"I tried to. I –" she took a deep breath. "It gets bad, when I try to. The Voices. I was hoping it would be better if I don't go down alone. I think…" she trailed off. "It's not always him. The Voices, I mean. I think they were here even before… before I turned. It's hard to remember. But I think sometimes, maybe most times… they're really just me."

 _You hope,_ Embla thought again, _you hope and you fear._

"They're not your fault," she said. "Even if they aren't some messed up Prince whispering in your head. Or even if they are. Doesn't matter. They're not your fault, one way or the other."

Serana didn't reply. She walked over to where a piece of the dial was missing and put it in place. There was a sound of grinding stone, and the center of the construct spun and seemed to crumble. Sure enough, a staircase emerged from it.

Serana paused on the verge of the first step, frozen in place. Around them, the dogs barked and rolled in the dirt. "I think this is it." Her voice trembled. "Now or never."

 _You hope and you fear,_ Embla walked to her side. _And you hurt. And you love._

She took a look at the staircase, like a gaping mouth, and was suddenly overcome by a chill that made her skin crawl with goosebumps. Some deep, primal instinct told her to turn back – turn back, because nothing good would come out of that place.

Embla took one last look outside – at the sun, at the dogs playing, at the woman next to her. She pulled her hand out of her pocket, leaving the glove behind, and briefly touched Serana's cheek, then slid her hand into the other's. There was always a spark when they touched, as if their very bodies were charged and just waiting to unload.

"Let's go," she said, and squeezed her hand, and led the way to the darkness below.


	9. Chapter 9

Of all the places she saw herself in the future, sitting on the courtyard and discussing advanced magic with two remarkable vampire sorcerers was not on top of Embla's list. And yet there she was.

"This is impressive," the dunmer, Garan Marethi, whistled before closing Valerica's journal.

"It's impossible," Embla replied. "We can't replicate that."

"We have the gate and the ingredients," Serana interjected. Embla looked up at the sky and sighed.

"It's an Oblivion gate. Your mother opened them during the Interregnum, when there was no emperor and the Dragonfires weren't lit. That's not the case anymore. You don't – I'm not sure how much you caught up with history?"

"Not much. Haven't had a lot of time. I'm still on Pelagius Septim the Second."

"The Covenant doesn't exist anymore, Lady Serana," Garan explained. "Your… friend is right. The Gates of Oblivion have been closed forever."

"Martin Septim re-forged the agreement with his own blood, and he was – he was the last dragonborn, or so we thought." Embla added. "Regardless, it can't be done. Oblivion gates don't open anymore."

" _We_ can't do it," Garan corrected, narrowing his eyes at her. "Whether _you_ can do it is an intriguing question."

Embla rubbed her face with her palm, feeling the beginning of a stress headache. "Whether I should even try is a question more important than that. Of the Eight Towers that hold Nirn in place, only three are still standing. Opening an Oblivion Gate could be a disaster."

"Three?" Serana blinked. "We had six towers when I left. We lost half while I was gone? How did that even happen?"

"White-Gold and Crystal Tower fell together during the Oblivion crisis," she forced her memory, trying to remember her early college lessons. "Right before the Thalmor - Martin. Right before Martin closed the gates."

"The Red Tower fell with the Tribunal circa the 427th year of the Third Era," Garan completed.

"The Tribunal is gone?!"

 _Dear Divines, she's going to have a meltdown._

Embla resisted the urge to touch her for comfort. She wasn't sure about the true nature of their relationship, but whatever it was, she wanted it to seem strictly professional in front of the dunmer, even though Serana seemed to judge him trustworthy.

"The Nerevarine prophecy played out," she made a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry about it. I'll fill you in through the last couple millennia at some point. What matters is, even _if_ we cross into the Cairn, and that's a big if, there's no guarantee we'll find her there." She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to form a cohesive timeline of events. "The Emerald Gates in the Cairn open into every plane of the outer realms. She could be _anywhere._ Heck, the Battlespire only fell on the third era. For all we know, she could have escaped through the Weir Gate and ran back to Nirn."

"She would have come for me," Serana said. "No, if – if she let me down there for so long, then she is either stuck, or… gone."

 _Don't hold her hand,_ Embla chided herself. Her head definitely hurt now. "There's more to consider. How would we find her in there, and if we do, how would we leave?"

"You said it yourself, dragonborn," Garan crossed his arms and leaned against a wall next to where Serana sat. "The Emerald Gates are the way out of the Cairn. You'll have to open them, from the inside this time."

"Twice," Embla muttered. "I'll have to open the gates of Oblivion twice. And once we're there how do we even find Valerica? Are we supposed to just roam aimlessly and hope for the best? Can we even _walk_ on the Cairn?"

"A summoning ritual would be your best bet," the dunmer said. "Try to conjure her as you would conjure a daedra. You'll fail, of course, because she has a soul rather than a vestige, but the attempt should give you insight of her location."

"You'd need to be an exceptional conjurer to even try that," she was growing more stressed by the second. "And the College of Alinor requires mastery of only two schools of magic and intermediate level spells for the others, and I mastered in Restoration and Alteration. I am a mediocre conjurer."

"I'm an exceptional conjurer," Serana offered.

 _You don't know the rules that govern magicka anymore,_ she thought, because in a couple thousand years, a lot had changed. The Heart of Lorkhan was gone, three towers had fallen and about a billion other things that affected spellcasting had happened since the vampire went to sleep.

Feeling restless but reluctant to share those insecurities, she started pacing. "Where would we even come out? We go in here, but Castle Volkihar isn't a focal point of Nirn. We're not going to warp back here, we'll warp back into one of the Towers. If we're lucky, we reappear in the Throat of the World. If I mess it up? Could end up in the middle of the ocean."

"Don't mess it up," Garan recommended. "The middle of the ocean would be a good place to show up if you do. Worst case scenario you end up in another realm of Oblivion. Serana's soul –"

 _Will pull us toward Coldharbour,_ she mentally completed when he didn't finish the sentence. "It's too risky," she pressed her back to a wall and let herself slide down to a sitting position. "Way too risky. Too many ifs. I – I need to think about this. Over lunch, preferably."

"Wait," Serana said when she reached out for her backpack to grab whatever slab of meat she'd saved for a quick meal. "Let me get you something warm. From the castle."

"I can get it," Garan volunteered, but Serana shook her head.

"I'll get it. Be right back." She ran off, her dogs happily chasing after her, pushing the heavy wooden door that led inside with ease. Embla scrambled to her feet and ducked behind a pillar when she did it, just in case.

"Are you sure he's not going to show up?"

Garan shrugged. "Unlikely. Lord Harkon keeps to his room and the dining room nowadays. Lady Serana was always one to run off and do strange things. He doesn't mind. Doesn't care about much, really."

"Was it always that way?"

"For long enough that a mortal would call it always," he replied. "You'll need to be careful, in the Cairn. The wraiths are immortal, but you can banish them with an incantation. I'll write it down for you."

"If I go," she reminded.

"Ah, but your heart has already decided, hasn't it?" he smiled.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped.

Garan shook his head with a smirk. "What do you know of the Cairn?"

"Souls go there after they get trapped. Ruled by the Ideal Masters. Powerful place because of how the Emerald Gates can lead you anywhere in the outer realms, but the connection to Nirn is blocked, so it's only a useful stop to the scarce madmen who take Oblivion road trips."

"There's more. The nature of the realm is… interesting. Do you know why the masters collect souls?"

"To… eat?" she guessed, although she had no idea. "I think they ate souls in Umbriel? Back when it invaded in the early fourth era. Maybe the Ideal Masters are into that too."

"A good guess, but a wrong one. No, their desires are more ideological in nature." Garan walked to the center of the courtyard and stopped at the moondial, examining the crests. "The Masters were once mortals themselves and they believe what they offer the souls is a peaceful eternal life. They think they have created the paradise they once sought."

"I'll assume they haven't."

"The Cairn feeds on emotions, sucking them out and trapping them in structures they call Chapels, until the souls are left hollow to wander the plane for eternity. This the Masters believe to be the ultimate shape of peace. Those souls who manage to cling to an emotion or the other become the twisted wraiths that roam the realm, but all eventually meet the same end."

She hugged her knees, rubbing them for warmth. "Okay. This is interesting background, don't get me wrong, but is there a practical purpose to this information?"

"I'll get to it. You seem well versed enough to know that space-time in Oblivion is not quite the same as it is in Nirn?"

"Of course."

"Physically moving in the Cairn is said to be… tricky. It's a known fact that to reach a Chapel, you need to focus on its emotion, which will get you to it despite the direction you think you walk. The Chapel of Despair is very easy to reach. So is the Chapel of Anger. Unfortunately for you, neither are where the Emerald Gates lie."

Embla rested the top of her head against the pillar, looking up at the gray sky. "Go ahead. Tell me where the Gates are. I know you're dying to. Or, well, not dying – uhh – no offense."

 _Gods, I'm tired._

He fortunately did not dignify her blunder with a response. "They need a potent source of energy to be powered. A strong emotion. They're on the Chapel of Love."

"Of course. Of _fucking_ course. Fantastic!" She wanted to bang her face against the wall. "That's just spectacular."

"I say this, so you may properly rethink your relationship with my Lady," the dunmer said in a perfectly neutral tone, although his smile made her want to get up and smack him.

"This obvious, huh?"

He shrugged. "I've seen it happen many times before."

It was nothing beyond what she rationally expected, but the words still hit her like a charging mammoth. "I'm an idiot, that's what I am. A fucking idiot. This might be the death of me, and I still can't say no."

She stared at the flowers, carefully planted, a few stomped by the dogs, and she pictured Serana doing it – digging the holes, placing the seeds, watering them down. She stared at them, and she set her jaw with determination, because despite how strange the vampire was, that at least she understood – being alone. If Embla knew there was a sliver of chance someone from her family had survived, she'd dive face first into Oblivion to chase them, and so she couldn't deny Serana that.

 _But would she do the same for me?_

The question burned on the back of her mind, feeding on her insecurities of being no more than a pastime to the other – a pet, with value equal or lesser than her dogs, a toy to play with.

"It doesn't matter," she said finally. "I can only do what I think and what I feel is the right thing. If – if it turns out I'm just another one in her list, that'll hurt, but –" she shrugged. "At least I stayed true to myself."

"An interesting point of view," he said, narrowing her eyes at her, tapping his finger on cold stone. "I'll say this much," he turned to the doors, watching them, "I have served Lady Serana for a long time. She has brought plenty of women to these halls, and plenty of men, and though most loved her like you do, you're… the first one she offers to bring a warm meal."

As if on cue, the doors were pushed open, and Serana reappeared with a steaming bowl of something. Embla accepted it wordlessly, reverting her face to a perfectly neutral expression under the dunmer's scrutiny. It was soup, a rich mix of potatoes, cabbage and chicken, with the seasoning absolutely on point. If Serana was trying to win her over through her stomach, it worked. She ate in silence under her expectant gaze, while Garan excused himself and went inside the castle.

"I'll do it," Embla said when she was done. "I'll… try to open the gates."

Serana slid down next to her, their shoulders touching. "You don't have to. You don't have to follow me either, if you don't want to."

"And how would you ever get back to Nirn?" she placed the bowl on the floor. "No, I – I understand where you're coming from. I'll do it. We'll do it, together. Has to be this way. Garan told me about the Cairn, you'll… need me there. For more reasons than one."

Serana reached out and took her hand. Something tightened on her chest, and she pulled it away. The vampire frowned but didn't comment on it.

"There's one more thing – something my mother mentioned in her journal which we didn't address. I'll have no trouble walking into the Cairn, since my soul is already claimed, but you… I'd offer to turn you, but I'm not even sure that's possible –"

"That won't be a problem," Embla cut her short. "If Valerica got it right, the Cairn only goes for souls which are… whole. Undamaged." She touched her throat before she could stop herself, then forcibly moved her hand back to her lap.

"You always do that," Serana noted. "You touch your throat when you're nervous. When you wake up from a nightmare. At first I thought it was because of, well, you know," she shrugged. "Me being a vampire and all. But I'm not so sure. It's too reflexive. Like you've been doing it for a while."

Silence. She watched the skies. There were no birds, no sun, only a constant blanket of clouds. She thought about how it used to look back in Valenwood, where the Green often hid it behind thick leaves. Sometimes thunderous, sometimes a warm, beautiful blue, but never like that – never that cold. Never that gray.

" _Lok_ ," she said, staring at it. "Sky. _Lok_ is sky. _Drem. Yol. Lok. Drem Yol Lok._ Peace, fire, sky. I think it means something, when I say the three together like that. I'm not sure what."

"A spell?"

"Mmh. Not quite." _Drem. Yol. Lok._ "More like a greeting. Maybe." She sighed. "I died."

"What?"

"I died," she repeated. "I deserted from the army. Tried to set the mission target free. They caught me. Put my head on the chopping block in Helgen, and snip." She ran her index finger over her neck. "Sliced it clean off. I remember it. I'm a physician, yeah? And I remember thinking about how the head stays alive for a little bit after you cut it, so you can see – I could see it. The basket. The severed vessels. Just like that. Snip."

Serana tilted her head. "And yet, here you are."

"You ever lived through a dragon break?"

"Ah. Yes. The Middle Dawn one."

"I don't know how to explain it. I was there, head on the basket, and then – then I wasn't. I was back in the cart, walking to the block, laying my neck there like the world's worst case of déjà vu, and I knew what was coming, and he raised the axe and then I saw –"

Embla paused. She resisted it as much as she could, but her fingers eventually found her way back to the skin on her throat. Untouched. Unscarred. Like it never happened. The memory which played over and over in her head, every time she laid down to sleep, every time she closed her eyes, every time she –

Serana took her hand again, right from where it rested on her neck. This time, Embla let her. They made eye contact, and her heart sped up, and she wondered if Serana could feel it. She wondered if the other knew.

 _Probably,_ her rational mind answered even as they interlaced fingers and she took comfort where she shouldn't.

"What did you see?"

 _A dragon_ , she thought, but that wasn't quite right, and she was too tired of lying. "Akatosh. Or – or some shape of him, at least. A fragment, a – I don't know. I don't understand it. Can't understand it. Don't think I ever will. I just remember it was dark and cold and – and hungry."

"Hungry?"

"Hungry," she repeated. "Hungry and hollow, and it'll eat and eat and it'll never be sated, because no matter how many souls it devours it'll never find what it's looking for. It'll never find –" She swallowed dry. "I have it, Serana. Its soul. It's looking for it, I have it, and I wasn't – it wasn't always here, it was placed in me, it was put in there when I died and came back, I wasn't born this way, I was _reborn_ as – as this. Whatever it is. Except I didn't. I didn't die, it never happened, and so in a way this was always part of me. I just – I didn't want it. I didn't want –"

She felt herself tear up, unexpectedly, and then Serana was pulling her into a hug so Embla pressed her face to the other's shoulder and felt her body shake with sobs.

"I know," the vampire whispered, breath tickling her ear, and she shivered.

She leaned into her embrace and cursed herself a thousand times for it. "It's part of me now," she mumbled. "I try not to – not to think about it. I try to ignore it but it's in there, it's affecting me, changing me, and I keep getting – I keep getting impulses that are not – not mine, not the person I used to be, and I can't tell whether they're even mine and I feel so _violated_ –"

"I know," Serana held her, fingers stroking her nape. "I know, Em. I know."

 _She does know_ , Embla reminded herself even as her fingers clutched the vampire's robes and she gave in and let herself crumble. She closed her eyes and thought of the little rowboat which had brought them to Castle Volkihar, how it was tiny and frail in face of the dark ocean under it, and how the littlest wave could topple it and plunge her into the cold depths below. She was that boat, and Serana was that ocean, and she knew despite how much she fought, the riptide would still drag her in.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wiping tears with the back of her hand. "I didn't – didn't mean – didn't mean to – to break down like this. I – I – I – FUCK! "

She closed her hand into a fist and slammed it on the pillar she was leaning against so hard her teeth chattered.

 _This fucking language,_ she took quick shallow breaths, trying to get back in control, trying to remember the words. Serana touched her then – held her face and pressed their foreheads together, thumb stroking her cheek.

"Em," she whispered, and Embla felt herself shiver. "Sometimes things are done to us. Terrible things. Unfair things. And to survive we have to – to change. Become a version of ourselves that can be distant and cold, or hides behind fake smiles, or a version who's – who's violent and dangerous." Serana pulled away and broke eye contact, her hands seeking Embla's. "But. But the person you are? I don't think you can ever lose that. Misplace it, maybe. But it's there, and it'll recover and grow stronger and – and one day you'll look in the mirror and be proud of yourself again. I believe that. _You_ made me believe that again. You made me want it. So –" the vampire held her gaze, "Believe it. With me."

 _I love you,_ she thought, goosebumps crawling on her skin, and she swallowed dry, wishing she could push it down her stomach and dissolve it in acid.

"Okay," she said instead. "Okay. Thank you." She took a shaky breath. "So. Ideal Masters. Shouldn't be a problem. I don't think they'll try to claim – whatever this is. A fractured soul. I don't think the – the dragon will let them do it."

Serana held her for a second longer, then sighed and let go. "We'll see. I'll pull you out before it happens. Garan is going to bring us some supplies. We can go when he's back, if you feel ready."

"Yeah," she murmured, even though she felt the opposite of that. "Now or never."

"Do you really think you can do it? Open the gates?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but what came out was not what she had planned on speaking. "I know I can. There is – a word. For that. Mirlmulnir didn't know it, but – but the other one did." Embla closed her eyes. _"Al-du-in fey do jun._ That's his name. He saw me, that day. We'll meet again. I don't know when, but we will meet again, and when we do, we'll end – this. Whatever this is. He'll take what is his, or I'll – I'll make it mine for good."

Serana narrowed her eyes, but offered no comment other than a hand on her shoulder. It was still there when Garan walked back into the courtyard, and if he noticed it – as Embla was sure he did – then he didn't speak of it. Instead, he walked to them and handed her a satchel.

"I presume this is for you," he said. "Your… horn thing. It wasn't in the ruins, mind you. Someone had snatched it before my men could get to it. We found it, eventually, stealthily recovered it, but you should probably address… the thieves." He shrugged. "My intel agents told me they might be the last remnants of the Blades, which makes them your lackeys."

 _My lackeys,_ she blinked. _I have lackeys now._

Her head hurt. Her heart hurt. "Blades. I'll – ugh. I'll investigate it when I'm back. Eventually. One thing at a time."

"Did you find anything on the last Scroll?"

"We have tracked it down to Blackreach, my Lady," the dunmer gestured towards the satchel with his chin. "I put it down in a map. It's all in there. Is there anything else I may do for you?"

"That would be all," Serana said. "Thank you, Garan. I will contact you upon my return so we may discuss what comes next."

Garan bowed down one last time and walked back inside. Embla watched him go, eying his gait and his body language, her mind working hard to figure out his goals and motives. Vampires, she was learning, were remarkably hard to read, and whatever speculation she attempted to make on their psyche had to bear in mind the fact that they expected to live forever.

"We were friends… before," Serana offered, as if reading her mind. Embla made her way down the stairs, absently brushing her fingers against Serana's as she went. "He was my first magicka instructor, when I was little. More of a father figure than my father ever was. He used to be a member of House Dres, back when they were still Chimer. When the Curse happened, he was… disturbed, to say the least."

"When you were little," Embla repeated. The idea seemed surreal.

"Odd to think about, isn't it?"

Her only reply was to nod. They found themselves back on the lab, the smell of mold making her nose itch. Serana got to work, rummaging through the shelves for whatever materials she would need. Embla lit a candle and sat down on the bench near the portal, then removed a book from her backpack and started leafing through it.

She was still on it, runes blurring her vision, when Serana took a seat on her side. "Find what you're looking for?"

"Hm." She flipped a page. "The words don't come consistently. I've read it over three times now." Embla ran her fingers over the paper. "Dunno this one, and this one, and this –" she paused. "Oh. _Toor_. Inferno. Think it goes well with _yol._ " She resumed combing through the book. "Dunno. Dunno. _Krah._ Cold. Of course I'd know this one. No, no, no –"

She froze and frowned, staring intently at the page. The runes seemed to flicker. "Maybe… no, I don't think so."

"Which one was that?"

" _Bex._ Open." She passed the page, then the next, eyes running over intelligible scrawls. Feeling frustrated, she slammed the book shut and looked up at the roof.

"Open sounds right," Serana pointed out, crossing her legs at the ankles.

"No, it's not – not exactly open. Open is for doors, for things which are locked, for physical gates. The Gates of Oblivion are a metaphysical concept. They're less like gates and more of a veil, and you don't open a veil, you _tear_ – oh." She flipped the book open again, rapidly leafing through it, until she stopped on a page and the runes glowed. "I think this is it. _Vaaz._ Tear."

She knew it even as the sounds rolled off her tongue, and she shivered with the wave of repulsion that came after, strong enough that it made her retch. Serana was quick to move, rubbing her back.

"You okay?"

"Y-yeah. Bad. Bad word." The taste on her tongue. She spat. It remained. She didn't want to say it ever again. And she didn't want to Shout it. _This will hurt me,_ she realized. _This might kill me._ She stared at the page one more time, then put the book back into the bag, hands shaking. "Serana."

She turned. They made eye contact. "Yes?"

"Kiss me."

Serana's eyes widened for a fraction of second, and then Embla closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of lips against hers. It was brief, despite how eager Serana's hands were on her face, and then on her hips –

She pulled away, feeling her cheeks burn, and cleared her throat. "Let's do this."

Serana narrowed her eyes at her, furrowing her brow in confusion. "Em, we should –"

 _Why are you calling me that_

"I – I just needed the courage, okay?" she exhaled. "We can discuss this if – when we return."

The vampire made an expression of distaste, but didn't argue. She walked over to the portal and spilled the contents of a metal bowl in the middle, then pulled out a knife from her belt and made a cut on her own palm. The blood hissed when it hit the ground, like water dripping on hot stone.

Embla felt the pressure in the room abruptly drop, popping her ears, and then the ground exploded in absolute silence, stones suspended on purple fog, sparks dancing between them. She felt the air be sucked off her lungs and gasped, but it made no sound – the Gate seemed to suck the very vibrations off the room. She stared at it, at its core, at something which seemed like a spinning black sphere, but even looking at it made her feel sick.

 _The word,_ she told herself, and ice-cold fear gripped her heart, the silence around her a dare. She opened her mouth and focused on it. _Tear._ The awful taste returned to her tongue, the taste of something poisonous, the smell of flesh left to rot under the sun. She felt her stomach turn. _Tear_. Her hands shook. Her whole body shook. The word didn't belong to her, not like _drem_ and _lok_ and yes, even _yol,_ which she knew she could eventually assign her own meaning. _Tear_ was bad. It belonged to it – to the soul-eater. It belonged to creatures with dark thing on their cores, and she didn't want it.

 _Tear._

" _Vaaz!"_

A pact forged in blood. It was naïve of her to think it could be broken without it. She felt the tear as it happened – not only the rip on the veil between worlds but also the rip on her own flesh and perhaps on her soul. The pain didn't really register until she looked down and saw it dripping – blood. Her own blood. She pressed her hands against her abdomen, and they came out red.

 _oh that's a lot of blood_

Her heart raced and yet she felt lightheaded. She might have screamed then, but if she did, the thing in the center of the room swallowed it just as it drank down her blood. She fell to her knees, breathing fast, and then down on her side, and still she could see it flow and flow and flow…

The corners of her vision darkened.

 _Get a grip,_ she told herself. _Trauma care. Restoration. Compress the bleeding._

Hands on her shoulder – Serana's, recoiling when her hands touched blood as if it burned, helping her sit –

"No don't –"

 _(running through the woods in Valenwood as a child without a care in the world catching her first prey)_

She opened her eyes, dizzy, feeling consciousness slip. "Lie me down and put my legs up so the blood can –"

 _(it was a beautiful colorful bird and she remembered feeling sorrow for taking a life but pride for her success and she)_

Back against the cold floor. Fragments of thoughts darting through her mind. She was bleeding. She was bleeding a lot and Serana was nowhere to be seen. She heard the sound of glass and –

 _pain gods oh gods why does this hurt so much I'm going to_

 _(colorful feathers which she saved to make something for her mother)_

"Green," she groaned, and for a moment she wasn't sure what it meant. "Grab a green potion."

Bitter taste on her mouth, an effort to swallow. She turned to the side and threw up, and the tensing of her abdominal muscles made the bleeding worse, and she knew she was losing volume way too fast and soon enough her heart would –

 _(im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry im)_

Head being lifted. Serana pressed something to her nose, something ground to dust.

"Breathe," she commanded.

Embla inhaled, the powder making her cough. Her thoughts picked up speed at once, and at first all she could register was the pain. She felt her eyes fill up with -

 _tears_

"I can't cast restorative spells," Serana said, rushing back and forth the tables. "I've put some algae on it to stall the bleeding, but you'll have to restore yourself."

"Yes," she managed with a gasp. She looked down at her abdomen, where her armor had been removed, and she saw a cut deep enough that she could see through the layer of yellow fat under her skin down to the white fibrous tissue that covered her muscles, and then through it, deeper still. She tilted her head up, staring at the roof, and took several deep breaths, counting to five.

 _I've eviscerated myself,_ she thought, head feeling light. "I need – hallucinogens. Under my tongue. Magicka."

A moment later, Serana had placed what tasted like a clump of Moon Sugar. There was not enough time to wait for it to start acting. "One spell," she hissed. "Grand healing. Take lots of energy. I'll black out. Pick me up and run through the Gate."

"Embla –"

"Will close when I cast it," she grit her teeth. "Do it. Trust me."

"Fuck," Serana muttered, but did as she was told. "Fuck, fuck. Are you sure? Em we can just –"

"Grab things. Do it!"

 _(i love you)_

"Embla!" Hands on her cheek, slapping her awake. "Em, just – "

 _The spell._

Grand healing. She barreled through it only because she had enough familiarity with it that she could do it exclusively with gestures or exclusively with words. As it was, she managed a mix of both, a messed up half slurred half signed jumble that instructed her body on what to prioritize and what could wait, just enough that maybe, just maybe, she could survive this. Around her, the world exploded with a thousand colors.

She whispered the final word and felt a vertiginous drop on her energy, followed by a feeling of falling in all directions –

And then there was nothing.

* * *

Silence. Echoes.

Serana opened her eyes. What she saw didn't make sense, so she closed them and opened them again.

On the third try, her brain arbitrarily decided a direction to call 'up' and another to call 'down'.

On the fifth try, the shapes around her started stabilizing into something familiar.

On the twelfth try, she gave up altogether on understanding where she was. The scenery around her shifted if she stared at it long enough, and whenever she made an effort to try and understand it, all she got was a headache and things melting into a blur.

 _"Mul Qah Div,"_ she heard, and she turned towards the voice to see Embla lying – _standing? Floating? –_ next to her, still unconscious, half-armored, clothes stained with a blood she didn't dare touch. Hearing her voice was a relief, and she took a deep breath. _"Mul Qah Div_ ," she repeated, still asleep, and Serana thought she saw something shimmer.

She would have investigated it, except right then she noticed there was a third person sitting there with them.

It was herself.

Or a younger version of herself, at least. Serana tilted her head and stared at the girl, feeling dizzy when she saw her green eyes – _their_ green eyes. "Uhm… Hello?"

"Hey." The girl replied. "Good to finally meet you. I'm the Voice in your head – well, sometimes. Most times. Every now and then it's Bal, but usually it's just me."

 _Embla was the one who took the Moon Sugar but I'm the one delirious,_ she thought, and the younger version of herself snorted. "You can read my mind?"

"Of course. I told you. I'm the Voice in your head."

"And you what, suddenly got a body?"

"We're in Oblivion. Do _you_ even have a body?"

Serana was not entirely sure, so she shrugged. She'd had weirder things happen to her, and she appreciated the silence. She had questions, dozens of them, but they could wait, because she had her attention back to more pressing issues – namely, the dragonborn, which was still mumbling the same three words under her breath over and over.

 _"Mul. Qah. Div."_

"What does that even mean," she muttered, frowning when Embla repeated the words and for a split second she saw –

"Those were claws. She had claws for a second there. And scales." Her younger self said, kneeling next to her. "See? There. Again. Claws and jaws and – "

"Why do you do that?" Serana snapped. "The rhyming words. Repeating them over and over."

The embodied Voice – or whatever she should call it – looked away for a moment. "So you don't forget them. Or me. So you don't forget me."

The words hit her with an unexpected pang of melancholy, and she pushed them to a corner of her mind to dwell on later. She hesitated before touching the elf – there was blood all over her, and touching it did weird things to Serana, and she was still shimmering.

"You have to wake her," Voice said. "Wake her wake her wake –"

"Night mother's tits, just shut up," she hissed, grabbing the dragonborn by the shoulder. "Em," she called, barely above a whisper. "Wake up. Em, come on. Wake –"

Embla sat up abruptly, eyes open, pupils slit, and she said the words again, but this time Serana felt the air around them tremble.

 _"Mul Qah Div!"_

Something shifted. Something changed. Embla gasped and her body was abruptly wrapped into light that took shape – glasslike scales covering her skin, protruding in spikes from her spine right up to what looked like a dragon skull covering her head as a helmet.

"You're staring at her soul," Voice pointed out. "Part of it, at least."

 _Light through a crystal._

"Serana?" She opened her eyes, took a single quick look around and closed them again. "Oh what the fuck –"

"You'll get used to it," she said, carefully touching her on the shoulder. Her hand passed right through the armor, a sizzling sensation on her skin as it did. "How do you feel?"

Embla took a moment to answer, opening her eyes again and admiring the shimmering claws covering her fingers. They were like the world around them, in a constant state of there yet not there, and if Serana looked at them for too long, things started spinning.

"Different," the elf said finally, turning to her. "Stronger, I think. But different. This…" she ran her fingers over her abdomen, where an angry pink scar had formed. "I think this mark will stay."

Serana felt an abrupt pang of guilt, strong enough that it made her nauseous. "I'm so sorry – I had no idea –"

"Didn't you?" Voice cut her short. "Didn't you really, Serana? Didn't you, or were you just fucking selfish as always?"

Embla's head snapped on her direction and she squinted, then rubbed her eyes. "Huh. For a moment I could swear I saw and heard two of you."

"Maybe you did. Things are strange here. You look like a dragon."

"I do. I'm not sure how much of this is actually immaterial," she said, tapping her finger on the whatever-it-was they sat on. For every two or three taps, there was a distinct _clink_ of claws against stone. "It comes and goes, as if – as if it existed on more than three dimensions, and every once in a while it crosses into the ones I can perceive."

 _A fascinating hypothesis._

"You were saying some words. I think you summoned this shape."

" _Geh._ It is more appropriate for this place." She placed both her palms on the floor and pushed herself up, then stumbled. Serana jumped to her feet to catch her, but Embla found her balance without help. "It definitely makes me stronger. I think I could even go one-on-one against you right now."

The last words were clearly said in jest, particularly with how she smiled as she said them, but Serana still felt her heart squeeze.

"The first good thing in your life in thousands of years," Voice said, walking next to her and almost startling Serana off her skin. "And what do you do? You literally shred her to pieces and drag her to hell."

"Em, I'm sorry," She repeated. "This was a bad idea –"

"Which I agreed to," Embla interrupted. "An awful, terrible, utterly moronic idea, yes, but I signed up for it because I am an imbecile. So, here we are." She paused, looked around and winced. "Divines, I really – do you even see the same things I'm seeing?"

"Not sure. What is it to you?"

"Sand. Like the dunes of Elsewyr, but there are no dunes, just plains of sand and some weird stone formations. And it's – it's weird, it's not usual sand, it's gray. Or white. Like ashes, but not quite ashes, or snow, but not quite snow because – oh divines. I want to throw up."

"Don't think about it," Serana recommended. "It's different for me. Barren dry ground and stone and remnants of trees under a purple sky. If I stare too long the trees turn into – doesn't matter. We should get moving."

"Where to? Garan told us to try conjuring your mother. Think you can do that?"

"Yes. I'll need a moment." She took a deep breath.

"What were you thinking," Voice whispered on her ear. "We are in Oblivion. There's no reason the rules of magicka should apply here. Magicka flows from Aetherius and we are one step from the Void. If you even manage to –"

"It's my mother, that's what I was thinking!" she snapped, then rubbed her face with her palms. Embla gave her a quizzical look. "Sorry, just – voices."

"Oh." Embla reached out and grabbed her hand. She shivered at the contact. "Don't worry. We'll find a way. I'm –" she tilted her head, and smiled in a manner that did not quite reach her eyes. "Not scared. Not anymore."

 _What have I unleashed?_ She wondered, a chill crawling up her spine, and then she thought, _It's the eyes._

The eyes. The slit pupils which hadn't contracted back to their usual round shapes. Every time Serana looked at them, she was struck by anxiety. She grit her teeth and turned away, to where her younger self stood. As she watched, the Voice slowly bared her teeth into a similar grin.

 _Daedra and divines forgive me._

She pushed her discomfort away and summoned the magicka to begin the casting. As opposed to Alteration, Destruction and Restoration, the magic schools of Illusion and Conjuration were abstract and inexact, and no conjuration was the ever the same as another. There was a certain state of mind she had to be, one she was able to reach easier than most people because it was just like trying to talk to –

"To me," Voice said, walking up to face her.

 _I want to find my mother,_ she thought, knowing that it would hear.

"Do you? Are you ready for what you'll find?"

"I'll never be ready," she mumbled. She felt Magicka flow through her like a cold wind kissing her skin. Voice turned its back to her and started walking. Serana took a couple steps to follow her.

"Oh. Oh, what the fuck," Embla protested. "You're – um. You're just." She lifted her hands in a stop gesture. "You're sort of floating sideways and every time you take a step you move vertically down. You clipped right through the ground and I have no idea how I'm supposed to follow you. You know what?" she closed her eyes and reached out. "Just hold my hand and lead the way."

Serana grabbed her hand, and then, on impulse, she clutched Voice's wrist with her other hand and closed her eyes as well.

 _I just want to see her again,_ she thought, and felt Voice tug, and so she followed.

"You two never did get along, remember? She sealed you on a stone monolith for two eras."

 _I was out of control. Father was… using me. Egging me on._

"Are you any more in control now, Serana? Look at you. Look at where we are. Again and again, you do what you want without thinking of the consequences. Was the problem really your father? _Is_ the problem really your father?"

 _I don't know._ The ground was flat and she never tripped on anything, but abruptly, her steps began echoing. _I don't know anymore. Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm the rotten thing._

"It certainly seems that way. What are you even doing with this girl? How much further can you push her, until you finally destroy her? Is that what you want? To take every single beautiful thing you come across and tear it to pieces?"

 _I don't -_ Serana felt a drop of something wet touch her skin, then another, until she was under a drizzle. She didn't open her eyes. _I don't know. I don't know what I want._ The drizzle turned into a pour. There was a smell she couldn't quite name. _I only know what I don't want._

"What is it that you don't want?"

 _I don't want to be here._ Eyes shut. Things touching her skin – wet things, sharp things. Her boots going squelch against whatever they were stepping on. Eyes shut, because if she couldn't see the monster then the monster couldn't see her, or so the inner child which now led her used to believe, right up to the day where she closed her eyes and the monster tore off her eyelids. _I don't want to be scared. I don't want to be a monster. I don't want to be alone._

Eyes shut. The dragonborn squeezed her hand, always so warm, and it felt like a lifeline she didn't want to let go of. _I don't want to be alone,_ she thought again. _I don't want her to leave._

"I'm not going anywhere," Embla said, and she should have felt mortified at the realization that she'd been talking out loud, but instead she let herself enjoy that shred of relief.

"We're here," said Voice, and Serana opened her eyes.

Ahead of them, stood a dragon.


	10. Chapter 10

_It's getting worse,_ Embla thought when she opened her eyes. There should be no relation between things, no link between vision and what she felt in her lungs, but when she laid eyes on the world around her, the feeling of suffocation seemed to double.

What used to be ashes, or something like ashes, had turned into liquid oblivion, and she found herself floating in a strange black fluid that made her movements slow and her vision bent. She couldn't _feel_ it, there was no wetness brushing against her skin, yet whenever she pulled in air she was struck by sensation of drowning and had to resist the urge to gasp.

Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

She wanted to cry.

 _It's okay,_ she told herself. _You can do this._

"Em, that's a dragon."

 _Dragon?_

She couldn't see the dragon. She couldn't see Serana, either, her voice and the cold fingers interlaced with hers the only proof of her existence, and she gripped onto them tightly for fear they'd break apart and she'd be swept away, lost forever in an ocean of nothingness. She couldn't see the dragon, or Serana. She couldn't see –

She couldn't breathe.

Her hand flew to her throat, to smooth unscarred skin, her lungs full with liquid which she was suddenly sure it was her own blood, and she heard a _snip_ , and she –

 _Claws,_ she thought. _Claws and fangs and scales._

She willed them into being with an ease that terrified her. She had but to think about it and they would be there, claws covering her fingers – _her claws –_ and scales over her skin – _her scales –_ and suddenly the air felt light again and the world exploded into colors. She could see the dragon then, shifting between past and present, between there and somewhere else, one moment beautiful bright purple scales, in another sunken eyes and torn flesh.

She stared at its claws and fangs and scales, and her mother's voice echoed in her head.

 _We have no shape but that which Y'ffre bestowed us,_ she thought, staring at her own fingers with horror.

Darkness.

Drowning.

Embla wanted to cry.

 _This is torture,_ she thought, even as she brought the dragon aspect back. _Self-inflicted torture. To choke or to let myself be twisted into –_

She retched. She took a step back, placed a hand on her abdomen and heaved. The air leaving her lungs burned like liquid. The wound on her skin stretched, and she wondered if it would open right then and there, spilling her guts on the floor like some twisted banquet for the monsters that inhabited that hell.

Monsters which she was now a part of.

Darkness. Choking. Her blood roared on her ears and she felt her entire body shake.

" – Em! Embla!" hands on her shoulder, shaking her. She could barely hear the voice over the sounds of her own body. "Em, get a grip!"

 _Slap._

Sharp pain exploded on her cheek, and the world refocused, her hands instinctively reaching out. Claws and scales. Embla found herself holding Serana's throat, face contorted into a snarl, long spectral nails digging into her skin.

She let go, eyes wide, feeling dizzy, but before she could pull away it was Serana's turn to grab her, fingers curling around the hairs of her nape, and Embla felt lips on hers and she kissed back, needing, desperate, unable to resist how much she wanted it –

Serana pulled back, held her gaze and whispered, "I'm not going anywhere either. Let's get through this."

Something inside her cracked. She felt stronger.

Embla took a shaky breath. It felt like air, fresh and cold. The ghostly armor covering her fingers shimmered. She yanked her eyes away from it, putting it out of her mind, and stared at the dragon who sat in silence. Mirmulnir had attacked her on sight, but this one seemed content to watch. There and then not. Dead and then alive.

The delicate veil that of his wings was torn, and it made her think of the cursed word she'd used to get there – the word she'd have to use again soon. A flap of skin hanging loose. It would drive her insane if her gaze lingered.

She knew his name.

She let her hand slide back to Serana's and took a step forward. " _Drem Yol Lok, Durnehviir."_

It was eerie. The words came to her easier now, almost without effort. She knew things she had no way of knowing. The sound of her own voice was deeper, richer.

It made her skin crawl.

 _"Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin_. If you are here, then the time has finally come."

"The time for what?"

 _"Dinoksetiid._ For the end, of course."

 _The end._

Embla felt the sensation of choking return and swallowed it down on sheer willpower. She cleared her throat. _Claws, fangs, scales,_ she told herself, picturing them in her head. The air grew lighter. Something in her mind shifted. Something alien gripped her soul. She felt stronger.

"I'm Embla," she offered. "Pleased to make your acquaintance." She was an educated, well-read woman who often found herself among high society and intellectuals. But nowhere before had she wondered about the etiquette to address a dragon.

Durnehviir regarded her for a second, tilting his head. If dragons could smile, she thought that was the closest she'd ever see. "You are Dovahkiin," he repeated, as if teaching a baby their name.

Embla scowled at the condescending tone. " _Geh_ , okay. Not important. I'm looking for _Diil._ A vampire."

" _Pruzah._ I see you found one."

 _This dragon is fucking around with me,_ she thought, and couldn't decide whether that made her amused or irked. The absurdity of the situation was enough to leave her speechless for a moment. "Not – not this vampire," she snapped. "But a vampire who looks like this one. Maybe. I wouldn't know, I've only seen her in a portrait. Have you seen one?"

" _Geh._ That I have."

A pause. Silence.

"Durnehviir?"

"Yes, Dovahkiin?"

"Where is the vampire?"

"In the Cairn."

Her eyelid twitched. She rubbed her face with her palm, thinking. There was a clear communication issue between them. She ran words through her head, trying to make her intent as clear as possible. "Durnehviir, I need to be taken to wherever that vampire is. What would you want in return for bringing me to her?"

He stared at her, thin tendrils of smoke going up his nostrils. "You need but to ask, Dovahkiin."

Embla very slowly turned to Serana, making sure to twist her face into a frown that could express her frustration. The vampire bit down a snort. She turned back to Durnehviir. "Take me to the vampire, please."

The dragon stood perfectly still for a second, then very slowly raised his wing. Embla felt her heart skip a beat. She was there, leaning against his side, and she knew the moment she laid eyes on the woman that something was terribly wrong. Her arms were flexed, brought close to the center of her chest, fingers bent into claws. Her lips were pulled back into a grimace, showing her teeth. Her face was familiar in all the ways it shouldn't be. And the Elder Scroll was strapped to her back.

Embla had a flashback to the moment the monolith at Dimhollow slid open. Something inside of her broke. She felt stronger. Acid rose up her throat.

"Mother!" Serana rushed ahead-sideways-down. Embla shook her head to clear it, feeling the air grow heavy again. Her hands were shaking and the world spun. Her tongue tasted a metallic flavor and she spat out blood, realizing she'd bitten the inside of her cheek.

Garan's words echoed in her head.

 _The souls are left hollow. The ultimate shape of peace._

"What happened to her?" She blurted out as Serana approached her mother without touching her. Embla realized she'd asked the wrong question. "What – what kept her here? Why couldn't she leave?"

"I kept her here. She kept me here. The same ones who tricked her tricked me." The tip of his tail moved up and down, tapping on the ground – most times. Every once in a while, it would go right through. " _Meyye_. We were fools, the both of us."

"What does that mean?"

"The terms of the contract have been lost in time," he explained. "Suffice to say I can only leave when she dies, and for as long as I live, she must stay, yet we are unable to kill each other. Two immortals, to wait forever. _Fahdoni._ We've grown fond of each other."

"Mother, please, can you hear me?" Serana whispered, her tone carefully emotionless.

"How long has she been like this?" Embla asked. Her mind heeled. She tried to take a step forward and ended up almost a meter from where she intended to be.

" _Neh. Mahfeerak._ Time makes little sense to dragons, and even less here. _Het._ " Durnehviir extended his neck, and Embla felt the warmth of his breath close enough to be uncomfortable. He bumped his head against her side and she was swept from her feet and pushed the right way.

Embla had to close her eyes to stop the vertiginous sensation of her brain trying to reorient itself. When she opened them, she found herself standing next to Serana and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Let me take a look at her," she murmured, kneeling. The vampire moved slightly to the side without a word.

 _She looks like her mother,_ Embla thought, staring at the woman's sharp features. There was an uncanniness to it, a wrongness to the way her eyes were squeezed shut and her lips were pulled into a humorless grin, and she felt an unexplainable wave of anguish.

"Lady Valerica," she called, lightly tapping her on the cheek. "Lady Valerica, do you hear me? If you do, please open your eyes."

She waited for a second, then two. Nothing. "Lady Valerica?" She insisted. "Please open your eyes. If you hear me, please blink."

Nothing. Embla grabbed Valerica's finger and squeezed the white half-moon of her fingernails, hard enough that she was sure it hurt. The vampire didn't change her expression.

 _Unresponsive to speech or pain._

She grabbed Valerica's wrist and tried to pull her arm, but the muscles were flexed and didn't budge. Embla felt her heart beat faster. She tried again, with no luck. Giving up on that, she ran her fingers over the vampire's chin, feeling the tensed muscles that pulled her lips open and kept her jaw shut. If she waited long enough, she could feel them spasm under her touch.

 _Flexing tonus of upper limbs. Extending tonus of lower limbs. Decorticate posture. Risus sardonicus?_

Embla pulled Valerica's eyelids up and stared at the pupils. They were wide and did not contract when she cast a Magelight on her hand and moved it close to them. She grabbed the vampire's face and pushed it, meeting resistance. After two tries, she dropped her hand and cursed under her breath.

"Serana, I need you to turn her head to the side while I hold her eyes open," she instructed.

Serana didn't question it, which made Embla feel a twinge of concern. She did her best to pull up Valerica's eyelids while Serana did the movement, paying close attention to see whether the eyes would move. They didn't, remaining fixed straight ahead rather than moving away from the direction of turning.

Embla let go and sat down, exhaling, thoughts jumping faster than she could put into words. She thought about the experiments and the lessons she had back in Alinor, about how the brain was where the mind was kept, and sometimes people's bodies would be alive but their brains were dead so all that remained was an empty husk –

 _Hollow._

She wanted to say a comforting lie, but she couldn't bring herself to. She'd made an oath, when she graduated. An oath to the people, to knowledge and to the truth. Even in Oblivion – or particularly in Oblivion – it felt important to stick to it.

"I'm sorry," she turned and held Serana's hand between hers. She considered whether she should explain things – that pupils not contracting and eyes not moving when the head turned meant a hurt brain, a damage no one had ever been able to revert. But that was not what Serana wanted to know. "She's gone."

She waited for a reaction, screaming, tears, anything, but Serana merely closed her eyes and took in a deep, shaky breath. The vampire bit her lip hard enough that her fangs drew blood, but didn't move or speak.

"You have a decision to make, _Diil._ " Durnehviir rumbled, watching them. "It interests me greatly."

"I can't ask that of her," Serana hissed, setting her jaw.

Something cold crawled over her heart. Her lungs felt raw. She wanted to cry. "What?"

"It's not fair," Serana turned to her but didn't make eye contact. She moved, very carefully removed the Elder Scroll strapped to Valerica's chest, and Embla noticed how she made a point not to touch her mother's skin.

"I'll be the judge of that," she snapped, abruptly hit by a wave of anger. Nothing about the situation was fair, but she'd see it through, and she'd do it the right way. "What is it?"

Silence. She waited, tried to calm herself down, reminding herself of how much grief the moment entailed. She gave Serana time to think things through. She considered apologizing for being harsh, but she didn't want to interrupt the other's chain of thought. Embla ran a hand over her own hair, stopping at the nape and rubbing circles there.

Tips of claws scraped against her skin.

She put her hand down.

"Burn her." Serana finally murmured.

 _What?_

Embla opened her mouth, but Serana silenced her by raising her palm. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly. She waited. Serana closed her eyes. "Release her. It would be a mercy."

She understood that, at least – the concept of euthanasia, of letting go when she knew there was nothing else to be done. It was the humane thing to do. "Why me?" she asked instead, because something at the corner of her mind warned her there was more to it.

Serana turned, stared at her mother. "Mother does not deserve Coldharbour." She paused, dropping her eyes. "The Dragonfires would set her free."

"It would destroy her," Embla replied, because it would. Body and mind and soul, gone to ashes.

"It will set her free," Serana repeated, and then she said no more.

 _They're not my words,_ was the only thing she thought when she looked back at Valerica and her twisted grin. _I don't want to. They're not my words._

She was an elf from Valenwood, and she was terrified of fire.

She told herself to see things through. She searched the inferno of her mind for an answer.

Something inside her shattered. She felt stronger as that shred of humanity dissipated into ashes and was replaced by something else – something alien that grew more familiar by the second, something that sunk its claws and its fangs deep within her soul and made a home there. She stared at that thing inside her.

Its eyes were the sun.

Embla knew the words then, and she let them roll off her tongue, not waiting, not warning, not giving Serana a chance to say goodbye. Her vision blurred as she spoke. Fire, Inferno and Sun. They consumed her and the Oblivion around her, turning her blood into molten iron and her breath into a blinding wave of blue heat. The words hurt as they escaped her lungs, not because they actually burned her skin but because she knew they should, and so she felt them scorch her throat and her tongue and her lips.

Embla was wrong – there were no ashes when she was done.

There was nothing.

There was silence.

Serana covered her ears with her palms and whimpered, rocking back and forth. Embla caught herself thinking, for the first time, that maybe Serana was to be pitied.

 _Pitiful._

The thought felt alien, but it felt hers at the same time.

"It is as they said it would," Durnehviir spoke, bringing her back to their shifting unreality. "A flame as hot as the sun, as blue as the sky. Tell me, Dovahkiin, do you know why I am here?"

"A deal with the Masters," she replied, and then more knowledge presented itself to her. "I – Alduin ordered you to bring him what the mortals made. What even he could not understand."

"Look at me, Dovahkiin."

Embla did. She forced herself to stare at his figure, despite how much despair it sparked. She scanned his decomposed flesh, the holes on his wings, the green film covering open wounds that festered, the _stench_ and the wrongness of it all – to see an immortal being like that, a body that went against its very timeless nature and sought an end.

"You found them. The words."

"That I did," the dragon replied. "I will grant them to you – the words that no _dov_ can ever grasp. The abomination, the _Thu'um_ that turned me into this. I know them now, and even so I can never use them. But you –" he regarded her, "You who are kin to both _dov_ and the races of men. You may wield it like no other ever did."

"And you'll give them to me out of generosity?"

"You've done me a favor," Durnehviir shifted and released a puff of smoke. "You've set me free. You've set my friend free. But that is not the whole of it." Again, she wondered if dragons could smile. "I have paid a steep price for this knowledge. It would be a waste to never see it used."

"I'll take them," Embla said, then hesitated, unsure of what came next.

Durnehviir moved his head closer and whispered, almost inaudible, his tone so quiet she wasn't even sure whether he'd really spoken or just somehow thought the Thu'um at her. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Embla received the words, a shiver crawling over her spine as they penetrated the very marrow of her bones –

She felt it all be whisked away then – fangs, claws, scales, power, everything. Suddenly she was just herself, an elf from Valenwood who was curious about her own body and inquisitive about the world. A young bosmer from the deepest holes in the Green, who was afraid of fire. Pain exploded in her abdomen and she moved her hands to it as she fell to her knees, breath hitched, eyes watering. She vaguely registered Durnehviir opening his wings and flying away, the words he gave her still burning from the inside.

 _There are no runes for this_ , she realized, and somehow that was what made the eeriness of the Shout finally register. _There will never be any runes for this._

The pain was blinding, a reminder of the wound in her flesh and the wound in her soul, the very soul who had been bleeding ever since her head rolled off her shoulders. She'd slowed it down, shielding herself by sticking to routine and rituals, and then shielding herself by blocking the tear with claws and fangs and scales, but now things were crumbling down and like a wound whose scab had been yanked, she felt her essence bleed again.

She waited for the choking sensation, but the air didn't grow thicker. Rather than becoming more confusing, the world around her seemed to settle back into three dimensions, a desolate landscape solidifying under her feet. She didn't have the time to admire it. The pain was too much. She fell on her shoulder, knocking the breath out of her lungs, curling up in a ball. White spots danced in her vision.

Embla felt the taste of blood fill her mouth. Mortal, finite, temporary. That was her – that was her existence, and when Serana grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up she couldn't help but ask herself who was pathetic then. Something seemed to fall in place, and she finally glimpsed something beyond her limited perception and _understood_. She looked at Serana and understood why one would want to be like her, despite the price paid.

Mortal. Finite. Temporary. She couldn't blame anyone for wanting to escape it.

And yet –

Pain. Pain enough that she would do anything to have it stop. Pain enough that even finitude seemed desirable. She thought about Valerica, about how an end could be a mercy. She knew that as a physician, had witnessed it time and again, she was no stranger to the concept of letting go.

And _yet_ –

 _I need to accept this,_ Embla managed through the haze. _I need to accept myself as both things. As me. As… as whatever else I am._

The pain seemed to get deeper, harder, and she felt the slickness of blood in her fingers. She looked down to her stomach to see her wound opening up at the edges. Serana snuck a hand to her back to give her support into a sitting position. Every breath she took sent shocks from her guts to her spine. Her eyes watered.

 _The Cairn is tearing me apart,_ she thought, then grit her teeth and stared at the vampire. "Emerald Gates," she hissed. "How do we –"

Serana pressed their foreheads together. "We stop being here, and start being there."

 _Stop being here_ , her thoughts echoed, _start being there. Stop being here, start being there. Stop being here –_

Emerald Gates. The Chapel of Love. The reason why she had to be there, the reason why she'd agreed on that mad ordeal. For a moment she hesitated, panicked, because ever since she stepped foot in that plane she felt irrevocably changed and she wasn't sure she was capable of love any longer. And then Serana kissed her, and her heart raced, and the familiarity of the feeling was such a relief even the pain subsided for a moment.

It was enough.

The world around her dissolved into a blur. Embla closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of cool lips against hers, and then trailing kisses over her jaw and down her neck, stopping just over where her pulse hammered against her skin. She bunched Serana's hair on her fist, digging her fingers deep on her skin, catching Serana's lip between her teeth and tugging –

She opened her eyes. "We're here," she said, staring at black stone steps that contrasted sharply with white marble pillars.

It was less of a chapel and more of a temple, and she could not quite precise how tall it was, both because it was huge and because it was shifting. There were no walls, only columns and a roof. There was no missing the Emerald Gates inside, portals of crackling green energy that were too blinding to stare at. She pushed Serana gently away, leaving a hand at her shoulder.

"Are you sure you can do this?"

"What choice do we have," she mumbled, turning to the gates, no real bite to her tone. The mere thought of tearing the veil again gave her the beginnings of a panic attack. She tried to stand. Pain shot through her abdomen and she stumbled, but Serana caught her in time.

"Thank – ah, fuck. Serana?" She fixed her gaze on the horizon, trying to make out a shape.

The vampire followed her gaze. "Fuck. Let's get going."

The shape, whatever it was, approached at terrifying speed. Around them, she heard a rattling sound and suddenly something moved on her peripheral vision. Skeletons assembled themselves from the ground, black carbonized bones piling up on top of one another.

 _They're mixed up,_ she thought incoherently, seeing undead form from mismatched skeletons, femurs too long for tibias too short, humeri that didn't fit forcing themselves on shoulder sockets too small, and there was some deep horror into realizing they rose not as individuals but as pieces of a single monstrous entity.

 _The ooze,_ Embla remembered the tale of how the Bosmeri came to be, all out of a single mass, and she remembered the night at the Wild Hunt where she'd felt her shape bend into something else, and she screamed and tried to run, but the pain was immobilizing. She tripped and slung an arm over Serana's shoulder for support, then started limping up the stairs.

The skeletons moved fast, some crawling, some stumbling. And the tall, hulking creature got closer. She felt her heart hammer.

"With these words I free you, hideous, unclean spirit, from the bonds of undeath," Serana chanted, dragging Embla with her, looking back at the wraiths. "From fifty fathers, frozen in slavepast, rip from the wraithloom, sunder the lifeweave, lock tight in earthgrip, hold firm in gravefast!"

The skeletons closer to them exploded into a million shards of bone, letting out an inhuman final screech. The enchantment was effective, but it had taken exactly three out of hundreds of undead that languidly made their way to them, and they would tear the two of them apart long before Serana could banish them all. And whatever was coming –

Embla could see it now. It was made from bones, but not human ones.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The creature shimmered, and it was suddenly covered in scales. She saw Serana's eyes widen, and then the vampire cursed, bent her back and straight up picked Embla from the floor, carrying her like a bride. She didn't have time to protest. Serana carried her up the stairs, but every step seemed to put them further from the gates, and as far as Embla knew, they could be walking on the opposite way entirely.

She fixed her eyes on the beast and filled her hand with flames, feeling a drain on her magicka that was far greater than it should have been, as if even the energies from Aetherius had trouble penetrating that place. The monster, whatever it was, made no effort to dodge the attack, and the fireball licked its breast plate harmlessly. It lifted an enormous battleaxe and slammed it on the ground.

The stone shook under their feet and a crack opened, slowly creaking its way up to them.

"Oh for the sake of Oblivion," Serana hissed and halted. "Embla, close your eyes."

"What?!"

"Embla, please _,_ " she insisted. "I can't – not with you looking – just. Just trust me, this once. Please." Their eyes met. "I know I haven't been a good – friend. Lover. Whatever we are. I know I'm not a good person. I'm sorry. Give me – give me one more chance. _Please_."

 _It is the nature of the scorpion to sting the frog even as it carries them both across the water,_ her mother's wisdom echoed in her head, _but we don't get out of here by mistrusting each other._

Her heart ached and her lungs seemed to drown in anguish. She closed her eyes. She kept them shut when she heard the unmistakable sound of ripping flesh, and kept her closed when the hands that held her seemed to grow longer, and the fingers that touched her suddenly had claws. She felt the distinct feeling of going up against gravity and heard the beating of wings. She didn't look.

Embla waited.

The sounds of bones being crushed. The sound of breaking stone. The whoosh of air on her ears. She waited, until she heard popping joints and withering flesh, and the nails digging on her skin shrunk back, and Serana whispered for her to look.

The Emerald Gates were ahead of her. She searched for the monster and found the bone-plated creature in front of one of the pillars, hitting its hammer against stone, chipping off chunks that were bigger each time.

 _It's pulling the chapel down,_ she realized, and pushed Serana lightly so that the other put her down. She steadied herself on her feet, feeling the energy of the Gates hit her in a wave of heat.

The battleaxe boomed against the pillar. Embla grit her teeth. " _Monahven!"_ she called out, her voice taking a richer, deeper tone than usual. The green fizzling energy grew still, and for a split second she saw the snowy peaks of the Throat of the World, reflected as if on a mirror. Then the image was covered by flames.

Embla took in a deep breath. The structure groaned one last time, and then there were booming sounds as the roof collapsed behind them. All she could hear was the crunch and screams of the skeleton wraiths crushed under the weight of the falling stone.

" _Vaaz!"_ she Shouted, and then arched her back as her skin ripped and this time she saw, or thought she saw, not only the eye of the Dragon but also its teeth and scales and its claws, the very ones who touched her skin and slashed it to shreds. The wall of flame parted as the pillars which held the Gates were hit by debris and began to crumble.

Serana didn't hesitate, and her speed was perhaps the only thing that saved them. But Embla saw no more. Her vision darkened, and she was struck by the feeling of falling in every direction, and then darkness engulfed her.

* * *

The snow they fell on was immediately painted red by Embla's blood.

The Voices in Serana's head were silent.

She despaired for a moment, both because she saw Embla bleed out and because she felt, for the first time in thousands of years, that it was the quiet in her mind which would drive her mad, rather than the other way around. She wasn't ready for it, wasn't ready to be alone. The words of the version of herself she'd met, younger yet still haunted, echoed in her thoughts.

 _So you don't forget_ , Serana repeated to herself over and over. _Don't forget. Don't forget. Don't –_

 _forget forget forget forget cat hat bat fat rat_

She breathed in cold air, and let out a sigh of relief.

Embla was bleeding. Serana knelt in the snow and picked her up, the scent of her blood stronger than ever. Much like the one it came from, it was hard to make sense of. She wanted it, wanted to feel it slide down her throat more than she ever yearned for anything, and yet she loathed it, the very smell repulsive. When that blood touched her skin, it burned like embers.

She couldn't see her aura – couldn't get a reading of anything, really. Whatever part of her responsible for detecting magic seemed clouded by static, either by the whiplash of leaving Oblivion or by the nature of where she stood itself, at the peak of the Snow Tower, one of the few places where Nirn was still held together.

She picked Embla up. She knew she had to find the stupid monastery and get her proper aid, but she also knew there was not enough time. She was going to bleed out in a matter of minutes. If they were to have any chance at all, she would need her wings, but she'd only just turned, and even thinking about it made her feel disgusting, and she could never do it under the scorching sun. The scorching sun –

 _sun sun sun sun sun sun sun_

Serana tilted her head up at the sky and stared at it. "I used to believe in you," she spoke, a bitter taste on her mouth. "Look up to you for guidance. You know that, don't you? You know it was you I prayed to, when I came face to face with – " her voice broke. Embla's limp body was warm against her chest. "I asked myself why for so many years. Studied the moves of the Aedra to try and understand."

The sun in the sky, indifferent. Blood on her hands. "But you know what I found. Akatosh only cares about Akatosh." She paused, walked over to a rock and placed Embla down on the snow, her back leaning against it. "So, is this how it's going to be? You'll let your child die like this? Before she fulfills… whatever bullshit prophecy you need her for? Whatever dirty business?"

"Akatosh only cares about Akatosh indeed," A voice above her rumbled, and she turned her head up to see –

 _dragon dragon dragon dragon the blood of the dragon the blood of the dragon the blood –_

Serana knelt in the snow and watched the dragon open his wings and glide down to them, landing with a thudding sound that was way too light for a creature that size. She couldn't find it in her to feel anything, as if her very emotions had been exhausted. She thought, rationally, that she should have been resentful. Akatosh had sent someone for Embla, but not for her, not when she needed it the most, but then again -

"The _dov_ are selfish beings," The dragon said, as if reading her mind. "And _bormah_ is but another dragon." He extended his neck until the tip of his nose touched Embla just above the sternum, and then he whispered a word she could not understand and the dragonborn shivered and broke into a fit of coughing.

She thought, rationally, that she should have felt relief. She felt nothing.

"I'll clear the skies for you."

Serana didn't say anything. She had nothing to say. She picked Embla up again – the bleeding had stopped, but she was still pulling in short, quick breaths.

 _I'm so tired,_ she thought, and looked at the sun, and wished, not for the first time, that it could turn her into ash. _It hurts so much and I want to go. I want to go. I want to –_

 _rest rest rest rest rest_

Serana felt her throat tighten and her chest ache. _If I start crying now, I'll never stop,_ she realized.

 _mother,_ the Voice whispered, so that she wouldn't forget. _mother mother mother mother -_

She was still crying when she reached the monastery. The monks, in their vow of silence, did not comment on it. They did not offer any comfort either. Maybe they thought her a monster. Maybe they were the monsters, unable to show any kind of empathy at all. But the walls, oh the walls – the walls would echo her lonely sobs for eternity.

* * *

The heat of blue fire engulfed her, but the noise made by the flames was not enough to cover the words that summoned them – fire, inferno and sun – impossibly loud, impossibly powerful. It was her voice saying it, and even when the fire went out, there were echoes, and echoes, and echoes, like the endless sound of the ocean waves –

Embla sat up, gasping for air, both hands flying to her throat, and burst into a fit of coughing. Her waking brain seemed able to process exactly one thing at a time, and so she noticed first that the skin under her fingers was smooth. Unscarred. Then she noticed the pain coming from her back, burning as if she'd been skinned. And then she noticed the world around her was solid. It was dark, except for the glow of a magelight.

Serana was in the room with her, eyes closed as if asleep, but Embla knew better. She took a few seconds to catch her breath. "For how long have I been out?"

Silence. She squinted, trying to make sense of the room. She was sitting on a stone bed covered by a scarce bedroll, Serana sitting on the opposite one. Her eyes were sunken deep, and despite how late at night it was, she didn't seem mesmerizing as expected. Beautiful, yes, but also something else – sad or resigned or maybe just unspeakably exhausted. For a moment, Embla wondered if she'd misread the situation and the vampire was indeed asleep.

"A week. Well, eight days now. The monks have been taking turns trying to heal you, but they're hesitant about it due to the nature of the wound and because of how weak you were. Or so I suppose. They still don't speak." Serana opened her eyes. They glowed in a dark amber that was almost red. "You were a mistake."

"Huh?"

The vampire moved her finger and the magelight grew brighter, blinding, illuminating the whole room. Embla shielded her eyes and gave them time to get used to the light. The floor and walls were covered with various sheets of paper, all handwritten. A bit of red string was nailed to some of them, linking them to each other into a path she could not understand.

"What happened that day, with your tribe?" Serana queried. "The day you lost all of them."

Embla felt the beginnings of a headache and rubbed her temples. Her back hurt. She pressed it against the cold stone behind her, and there was some relief. "I don't remem –"

Except she did. She remembered even though she didn't want to – the ritual, the Creature, the _hunger –_ "I – I was late. That's why I escaped. I was –" she took a deep breath. "There was no – no warning. We were all meant to be there for the _glath –_ sunset, the sunset meal and no one knew he was going to – the hunt – we weren't warned. I got distracted. It – it's – it's not unusual," Embla grit her teeth, words escaping her. " _Kynd_ miss curfew often. I was young. We're curious people."

"What exactly made you be late?"

 _I don't remember –_

"I was chasing a dragonfly. Unlike any I'd ever seen."

"A dragonfly," Serana repeated, then scoffed, staring up at the roof. "Of course."

"What's all this?" Embla gestured to the room around her.

"You were a mistake," she repeated. "An accident. Aedric miscalculation." Serana turned around and pointed to one piece of paper in particular, the one where the first red string rested. "There was a prophecy which foretold the birth of the Last Dragonborn. Things don't just happen at random, you see, never with the Aedra. There were some… conditions to your birth, or rebirth as it was."

Embla crossed her legs, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Some things had to happen to trigger the coming of Alduin. Towers had to fall. Doesn't matter. The last two lines are the important thing – When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding, the World-Eater wakes, and Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."

"Skyrim," she guessed. "When Skyrim fell into civil war. That was the last foretold event?"

"Never at random," Serana repeated. "Who killed the king? Who started the civil war?"

"Ulfric Stormcloak," Embla replied. "Though arguably one could blame the Empire or the Thalmor."

"And _how_ , pray tell, did he kill the king, Embla?"

Something clicked in the back of her mind, an extraordinary implication dancing just beyond her reach. She frowned. "With his Voice. The Thu'um."

"An ancient art which no one other than these mute monks around us have known for years. Suddenly, he knows that. Suddenly, he starts a war."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Whose execution was it, that day at Helgen?"

"Ulfric's, of course." Embla ran a hand through her hair. "I told you. I tried to set him free, and that's why I ended up on the chopping block. I – it was my fault he was there on first place. I thought out the ambush. I executed it. I captured him, and so it felt right that I should be the one to let him go."

Serana let out a humorless chuckle. "You played your part, and then some. What a mess, Em."

"I don't understand."

"It was him, don't you see? It was never meant to be you." Serana faced her, but her gaze seemed lost in the distance. "Him. A – what did you call it – ah. A knucklehead Nord. A man, not an elf. A man who was trained in the Thu'um. A man who triggered the chain of events that led to the return of Alduin and the birth of the Last. A man with a little king complex who would gladly take the throne of Tamriel. _He_ was meant to be dragonborn, Embla, not you."

They weren't in Oblivion, but she felt it again – the oppressive sensation of choking, as if the walls were closing around her. She wanted to tell Serana to stop, but her morbid curiosity was stronger, and she _remembered_ then, remembered opening the cell so he could escape, remembered the surprise in his eyes and his hesitation which she'd judged as mere caution –

"Your role was to catch him," Serana continued. "That's why you were late for dinner. That's why you lived. It had to happen, so that you'd leave Valenwood. So that you'd end up in Skyrim, and so that you'd prepare that ambush – that was the plan, Embla, but you messed it up, don't you see? You put your head on that block before his. A plan which probably spanned thousands of years," she clicked her fingers, "Undone in a second."

"Fuck," she said, because it made far too much sense. "Fuck, fuck."

Serana was grinning. "I won't lie, I take some delight in this. I spent hundreds of years learning to pick out the plans of the Aedra. It's not often that I see them fail so disastrously." She licked her lips. "Akatosh grew themself the perfect champion – devout, proud, a man who would follow their every whim. And then, because of a ten-second mistake, he got you, and who the fuck knows what you're going to do, Em? Maybe you'll tear down the gates of Oblivion so a vampire can see her mom again." She burst out laughing, a hollow sound that echoed off to the halls. "You think Ulfric would do that?"

"Fuck," she repeated, exhaling, and then, oddly enough, she felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "A mistake, huh? A mistake. That's…" She closed her eyes. "At least I know. At least I can stop wondering why."

"Because _fuck you,_ that's why," Serana replied.

Embla found herself giggling, half hysterical, half relieved. "There's no reason," she managed to wheeze. "There's no meaning. A _mistake._ The first elven dragonborn. A mistake. I'm –"

"Free," Serana completed. "Unlike me. Unlike Ulfric. You didn't make a deal for this. You didn't promise your soul. You didn't kill a king for it. You don't owe a god. You're free, Embla, you have this now and you may do with it as you deem fit."

 _There's no meaning,_ she told herself over and over, and then she stood without thinking, and she walked to Serana, knelt by her side, held her face and kissed her. Serana didn't kiss back, not at first, but she could feel the smile against her lips. When she pulled back, the vampire was, oddly enough, blushing.

"Thank you," Serana whispered, brushing a thumb against her cheek. "You didn't have to help me. You put your life on the line over and over. I'm fucked up, Embla," she cupped her face. "But I'm grateful."

 _She's been crying_ , Embla realized with utter certainty, staring at the rings around her eyes, and then she thought _There's no meaning,_ and then _I'm free._

"I love you," she whispered, and Serana's eyes widened, vulnerable and raw, and Embla leaned in and kissed her again.

"You're making a mistake," Serana breathed against her lips, even as her hands moved to undo the ties on Embla's tunic. Embla grabbed her shoulder and pressed her weight against Serana's body, making the other fall down in bed. "I'm a bad person, Em. You're too good for me."

She pressed her lips to Serana's neck and then, surprising herself, she bit, hard enough to let teeth marks on skin, and her hands drifted down to undo the straps on Serana's armor and she felt a hunger which was unfamiliar, but which she accepted. Liked, even. "I love you," she repeated, and kissed her again. She paused then, hesitated, pulled back and held Serana's gaze.

"Is – is this okay?" She looked for the words, but it was getting harder and harder to find her damn Cyrodiilic. "Is this what – do you – can I – hnng. Do you want. Me? Do you want to do this with m –"

She was cut short when Serana grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her back into the kiss, hissing an impatient _yes_ and then whimpering against her lips. Embla felt the last of her control slip. She wanted this, and she gave up any pretenses of pretending otherwise.

Serana's body was cold against hers, cold and sensitive, and she took her time to learn her curves and her soft spots. She was gentle with her touch, despite how much her skin burned and her lust seemed about to drive her mad.

It was her nature to seize what she wanted. It was also her nature to be kind. She embraced herself as both.

Her blood felt like fire.

She realized then that she wasn't afraid of it anymore.


	11. Chapter 11

Embla stared at the slippery path up the mountain, made impossibly dangerous by the gusts of wind, and tilted her head. Her eyes drifted over the snow and the sharp peaks and she realized she knew what they looked like from above: like jagged teeth, rising from the earth to bite off a chunk of the sky.

 _Sky,_ she thought. _Lok._

The words came easier to her now, and she felt more or less like she had when she first moved to Cyrodiil, forced to learn a language at record speeds if she wanted to survive. Embla stared at the path, alone, wind blowing so hard it threw her off balance, the air so cold that if she stood still for too long, she was sure stalactites of ice would form around her limbs, and took a deep breath.

" _Lok Vah Koor,"_ she whispered, and felt her ears pop as the environment suddenly depressurized. Her Voice seemed to carve a path ahead of her, a tunnel where the air was still like a held breath. She took a second to admire it, to enjoy this newfound power and appreciate the way her throat burned after she Shouted, then stepped forward and made her way up the Throat of the World.

Serana had told her what laid above, the ones the Greybeards called their master, but it wasn't until she finally laid eyes on the dragon that the full weight of it hit her. Embla touched her palm to her face, wincing at the explosion of feelings – the overwhelming sensation of betrayal. Of all the dragons she'd met, none brought up such a visceral reaction.

She resented that dragon, hated him even, the mere thought enough to bring a sour taste to her mouth. Embla made a conscious effort to swallow that down, yanking the anger from her thoughts like weed, and reminded herself that if anything, the enemy of an enemy was a friend, and the owner of that bitterness was definitely an enemy.

The dragon didn't turn to her, didn't come down from where he stood on top of a rock. She walked to it but refused to look up, instead stopping at the edge of the slippery slope and turning around. She could see all of Skyrim from it, from Ivarstead at the base of the mountain to the Sea of Ghosts in the distance. The view was breathtaking.

" _Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin_ ," he said, a while after she'd sat down in silence to observe the world below.

" _Drem Yol Lok, Parthuurnax,_ " she replied, hugging her knees, feeling the cold bite of the wind on her cheeks. It was hard to keep her tone neutral, despite her efforts. "The one inside me begrudges you greatly."

There was a second of silence, and then it was broken by what was unmistakably a chuckle. A couple seconds later, the ground shook when he landed, spraying snow over her clothes. She frowned with annoyance but did not comment on it.

"I am curious. Your coming was foretold – _Qostiid –_ but to see you after so long… I have a favor to ask of you, Dovahkiin. _Nin Yol._ Let me taste of his fire once again."

"No," she snapped, turning to him and standing. She dusted herself, slapping bits of ice off her pants. "Not his fire. My fire."

Embla faced him, titled her chin up and took a deep breath, and then released it in a stream of heat. The burning in her lungs, the fear, the exhilaration – all of that packed into those words. The blue flames licked off his scales, and she felt a hint of satisfaction when he closed his eyes and winced.

She felt lighter when she was done, a weight lifted from her chest. Parthuurnax exhaled, the tips of the spikes on his chin singed black. _"Krosis,"_ he said. "The Thu'um is a reflection of one's _sil_. It is only natural that you would give those words your own meaning. A mistake of mine to think otherwise."

"That's okay," she found herself saying, her voice raspy, an unplanned wave of empathy overpowering the insipid anger that seemed to leak from the inside and poison her. She saw him not as a dragon right then, but as a person estranged from his sibling. That concept – the idea of dragons as _people_ – was enough to give her pause. " _Krosis,_ " she said. " _Fah Zeymahi."_

 _Sorry for your brother,_ she thought, and then realized – there was no such distinction in the language of dragons. She might just as well have said _for our brother_. As if reading her thoughts, Paarthurnax exhaled slowly, tendrils of smoke leaking from his nostrils.

"It is what it is. But you have indulged me, and so I shall indulge you. What brings you to my _strunmah…_ my mountain?"

"The soul. It's mine now," she said, not bothering to elaborate, knowing that he would understand. "But I need to know how to – how to beat it. How to reel it in."

"Beat it, not him," Paarthurnax slowly dragged himself to sit next to her, and Embla let herself fall back on the snow. The sun was rising, bathing the horizon in red light.

"I'm not afraid of him," she said, because it was true, despite everything. "But I'm afraid of myself. You're not a good person, Paarthurnax."

He laughed, a hearty sound that made her think of crackling fire on cold winter nights. _"Onikaan ni ov._ You're wise not to trust another _dovah_ , though I suppose our brother's soul – your soul – is partly to blame for that."

"The other part you can blame on your scary teeth," Embla smirked, teasing, an intimacy which by all means she shouldn't have with a dragon, but that felt right regardless. She picked a bunch of snow and packed it into a ball, then polished it until it was perfectly round. "Will I have to live on a mountain, too?" She considered it. "Sometimes I think that would be easier. Do you think you could house another person? It's a very big mountain."

Paarthurnax snorted. Something warm bloomed on her chest – a distinct sense of affection. She couldn't pinpoint where it came from. Telling which feelings were originally hers and which weren't got harder by the second, and _caring_ was something she was just used to being.

" _Dov wahlaan fah rel_. We were made to dominate. Isolation is one way to keep it under control. It is not the only way." He paused. " _Zin krif horvut se suleyk._ The will to power is in our blood. You will be tempted. Find what grounds you."

"Hm." Embla stared at her snowball, contemplated it for a second, then tossed it with all the strength she could muster, watching it shatter against the sharp rocks. "Love," she said, picking up another handful of ice. "For people. For things. For the world. I love a lot."

"The _thu'um_ has no name for it, yet it is a word of power nonetheless," he mused. "Love. The _dov_ have trouble comprehending it."

"Do we?" she asked, not expecting an answer. She tossed another snowball. Watched it shatter. Picked up more snow, and did it again.

"It is a fickle feeling," he warned. "Not reliable. Can grow hostile and possessive. Can turn to hate. _Ag med yol._ "

"That's not love," Embla replied. "Real love – it's freeing. It's selfless. Can hurt like a bitch, but that comes with the package. I love this world," she said, staring at the snowflakes that landed on her clothes and melted against the warmth. "And I love who I am. I think that's a good place to start."

She stood, snowball in hand, planted her feet deep and threw it as far as her strength would allow. It sailed in the air –

" _Fus,"_ Paarthurnax whispered, and a wave of energy exploded from his lips, moving the air and pushing her snowball to an unforeseen distance.

"Woah!" Embla exclaimed, shielding the sun from her eyes and tiptoeing to see where it landed. "Woah, I think it made all the way down to Ivarstead!"

There was a fraction of second in which she was so absorbed by the miracle of physics, she forgot her current situation, and then it hit her like a mammoth and she realized at once how surreal it was.

Embla burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, I –" she couldn't breathe. She held her abdomen, gasping for air between giggles. "The snowball – went so far – that was genius!"

"You're a strange one, _Dovahkiin._ " His tail twitched. He turned to her and approached, moved his head until the tip of his nose touched her chest. " _Lok, Thu'um_ ," he rumbled. "Sky above, Voice within. _Mothmahus hadrin._ The mind is an elusive thing, but you have your anchor. Hold on to it. Stay true to yourself. _Su'um ahrk morah._ Breathe and focus."

The warmth that bloomed in her chest grew more pronounced, and she embraced it. She never had any siblings, although for the Bosmer, it mattered little – all her cousins and neighbors were raised together as brothers. But that experience was different – she felt welcome. She felt safe. With a dragon, of all things, she suddenly felt she had found her family again.

" _Kogaan_ ," she thanked, shoving her hands in her pockets to warm them. "I'm getting used to it. To this power."

" _Suleyk._ You have it, as do all _dov_. But power is inert without action and choice. What will you burn? What will you spare?"

"I'm not particularly fond of the idea of burning," she muttered. "I like things that are straightforward. Good or bad." She stared at the horizon. "I'm a physician, yeah? And I tell myself things are simple. Disease is bad, wounds are bad, curing people is good. But it isn't. Isn't simple." She chewed on the inside of her cheek. "It's ambivalent. Like fire. Or like – like ancient once evil dragons who decided to repent."

"Consider this, then," Paarthurnax said, pulling his head back. "What is better - to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"

Embla met his eyes and tilted her head. "To be born good, of course," she replied without hesitation. "Because while you're busy overcoming your evil nature, the world around you suffers its consequences." She smirked. "What a selfish question."

He seemed taken aback by her promptness, or as surprised as a dragon could be. She didn't give him time to think about it, instead bending over and taking another handful of snow to pack into a ball. "Do you think it would go even further if you added… mmmh.." She frowned and thought about it. " _Ro? Fus…ro?"_

It sounded about right. Paarthurnax blinked. " _Kren._ It would shatter."

Embla slapped the snowball, making it denser and harder. "Let's give it a try."

She was already throwing it before he had a chance to reply.

 _"Fus Ro!"_ he snarled, and this time, when the wave of energy hit the snowball, it exploded into a thousand fragments, crystals of snow flying through the sky and being picked up by the wind.

Embla watched them fly away, laughing.

* * *

"Vacations?" Serana blinked, incredulous.

"I suppose you could call it that," Embla replied. Serana watched her pack her bedroll and whatever few trinkets she carried around. "I don't know. Since we've met – well, since we've met again, I feel I've just been reacting to things," she paused, bent over and grabbed a book, then shoved it in the backpack. "I need this. I need time to think. To recover. To work things out."

Serana felt the cold fingers of dread wrap themselves around her throat, and her long-still heart seemed to squeeze. She took a deep, shaky breath. There were very few things she wanted less than vacations, if only because –

 _don't stop don't stop don't stop_

Because she had to keep moving. Acting. An idle mind was the devil's workshop, particularly when she'd invited an actual demon in. Distress must have shown in her face, because once Embla laid eyes on her, she stopped what she was doing and frowned.

 _you're bad for her,_ the Voice whispered in the quietest tone, and she clenched her jaw.

"You don't have to come, if you don't want," Embla tried to reassure her. "We can… set up a date and place to meet up. You can go off and do your own things while I rest."

 _And go where?_ She wondered, then forced herself to swallow down her protest. She was a selfish, egocentric person and she knew it. But Embla had done for her more than she ever had a right to ask.

 _bad for her you're bad for her you're bad you're_

She forced herself to exhale. She would try. Despite how much the idea anguished her. She would. Serana shifted from one foot to the other.

"I rather go with you," she replied, her voice strangled, and started packing her things up to keep her hands busy. "Maybe I should raid the monks' library before we leave."

"Maybe so. But we'll have a lot of work, at least for the first few days. Well –" Embla hesitated. "If you want to help, that is. I don't expect you to. You're, um. A princess."

The way she said it, the smirk on her lips, hit her with a completely unexpected bolt of joy in the middle of clouds of anxiety. She bit her lip and swallowed, her convoluted emotions too much to process. "Where are we going? To commune with nature in a cabin in the woods?"

"I hope you're not saying this just because I'm bosmer," Embla quipped. "That would be racist. For all you know, I'm a city rat."

"Right. Sorry. Where are we going?"

"To commune with nature in a cabin in the woods," she stated, a very serious face, then chuckled. "No, really. Place's an old Thalmor resting spot in Eastmarch that we had to abandon once Ulfric declared war. It's probably fallen into disrepair at this point. We might have to sleep in tents for the first few days, while we get it into livable conditions."

"Sounds… cozy," she muttered, pulling her hood on. "Not exactly my choice of vacations, granted –"

"Princess!"

" – but I'm always open for new adventures," she finished, and the strange weight on her chest seemed to get heavier as it crossed her mind –

 _With you. I'm always open to new adventures with you._

 _with you with you with you with you with –_

Embla smiled.

* * *

There were a few things Serana didn't know about Embla – things which, given the situation of their meeting and then how they were steamrolled into action, she just didn't have the time or the opportunity to learn.

The shack stood by the bank of the White River, more of an abandoned skeleton of a building than an actual cabin. By her standards, the place was minimal, though she supposed for a shack it was actually quite large. The wooden walls had holes on them, the roof was missing most tiles, and it was equipped with a single broken bed, a few chests and cabinets and a fireplace.

The first thing Serana learned about her companion, which she did already know in the back of her mind but was never actively aware of, was that Embla could somehow communicate with animals. She'd already witnessed it, sure, but it was a very different thing to see one ride a horse without reins and to watch someone talk to wolves.

"Grrargh," Embla grunted, crouching, staring at the beast. The wolf was at least a meter tall. It was huge. It had very sharp teeth, and it was snarling.

 _crazy?_ the Voice queried, inquisitive, every bit as bewildered as the rest of her.

Serana was crazy, but she was not _that_ crazy, so she raised her hand and summoned an ice spike, twitching her index and middle fingers and making it twirl on empty air. Embla gave her the bad eye and she scowled.

"Hnnrawwrrr" the elf insisted. The wolf twitched his ear and bared his teeth. Serana had the urge to laugh.

 _This is hilarious,_ she realized. _In my thousands of years of existence, I've never witnessed something singularly so fucking funny –_

The wolf barked. Embla barked back. Serana couldn't help it, she broke down in a fit of giggles. She must have startled the wolf with it, or perhaps the sound made him aware of the presence of a much more dangerous predator. Whatever it was, it worked – the animal tucked his tail between his legs and bolted out of the room, whimpering.

Embla was mad at her. Maybe. She couldn't tell, she was still laughing. Belly laughing and holding her sides and gasping for air. She tried to stop, turning away, eyes watering.

"Very funny," Embla snapped, kicking an old pan to the side of the room. "We could have used his help! It'll take me forever to win his trust now, if he's even around anymore. Do you know how far wolves can get in a day? It's _very_ far, let me tell you."

 _woof,_ the Voice echoed in her head, and she barely had time to think _oh no_ before it –

 _woof woof woof woof woof_

"You barked," she said, tears coming out of her eyes. Her abdomen hurt. "You _barked_ and it was so ridiculous and now the Voice in my head is barking and I can't – I can't – pfffhahah –"

She saw the hind of a smile cross Embla's lips before she forced her face into a scowl. "Why don't you make yourself useful and help me see what we can salvage from this?"

She did, between incontrollable snorts. The place smelled of mold and rotten food, which was still inside baskets and drawers. It was a good thing Serana could hold her breath indefinitely, because the place was an insult to her olfaction and in her humble opinion, far beyond saving.

"I have a question," Serana said after a while, when they'd cleared out most of the rotten things and Embla was at work burying them. "Well, I have just. So. Many. Questions." Embla turned to her and gave her a quizzical look. Serana could almost feel her mind turn gears from 'ancient creature of the darkness' to 'inconveniently curious five-year-old'. "Do all Bosmer speak wolf? Do you also speak bird and mountain lion and horse? How does this even work?"

"It's not a _language_ ," Embla snapped, leaning against a shovel they'd found inside one of the chests. "It's not like each animal speaks, I dunno, Cyrodiilic or Aldmeri or whatever. I can just read their moods and intentions and replicate. And their names, of course. All things have a name."

 _don't ask don't ask don't ask don't_

"What was that wolf's name?"

Embla made eye contact with her, held her gaze for a solid ten seconds. And then she _barked_.

And Serana was laughing again.

* * *

The second thing Serana learned about Embla was that she was happy. It took her a while to realize that, a while to even process the idea – Embla wasn't happy _because_ of something, she wasn't happy _with_ something, she was just… happy. Almost passively so.

She cooed at birds and howled at wolves and meowed at cats. She was happy when she woke up, she was happy when she ate, and she was even happy when she worked – openly, unashamedly giddy most if not all the time.

When she climbed the shack to cover the roof with a provisory layer of furs, holding three nails between her teeth and a hammer on her belt, Serana could almost feel her satisfaction from the way she hummed an unknown tune.

 _baby monkey ba-na-na-na-nas baby monkey ba-na-na-na-nas,_ the Voice echoed. Serana rubbed her temples.

"Are you sure you don't want me to do that?" She called from below, shielding her eyes from the sun. "It's less risky for me since I can, you know. Turn into bats if I fall."

"Hnnng," the elf replied, which she supposed was her way of saying _'my mouth is filled with nails right now'._ Serana shrugged and moved back to the wall, where she was busy covering the holes. They'd made themselves a few wooden boards by dismantling a cabinet, but they would need to make a run for proper building materials at some point. She resumed her hammering.

 _"_ Na-na-na bananas," she muttered under her breath with each strike of the hammer.

 _clink. clink. clink. clink clink clink clink clink -_

She was about to finish her job when she heard a crash, and one second later, Embla was falling from the roof and straight to the floor –

"Who-o-aa –"

Serana was fast enough to catch her, but could do nothing to prevent her from crashing into one of the shack's wooden beans before she reached her arms. Embla's weight was not nearly enough to strain her, but Serana let out an _oompf_ when she fell into her arms, more out of surprise than anything.

"Thank you," Embla said with a sheepish smile, and then leaned in and pressed their lips together.

Serana felt heat crawl up her cheeks and cleared her throat, then put her down.

 _falling. falling falling falling falling falling –_

 _Yes, I saw it,_ Serana replied to herself. _I caught her already –_ and then, unexpectedly, _why can't I have this?_

 _you know why,_ Voice replied, mocking, and continued its whispers of _falling falling falling -_

A hint of something creeped up her spine. Panic. She knew it well. Panic, and feeling trapped, even though they were into a flimsy cabin that lacked a door, even though she knew there was absolutely nothing holding her back. She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to five.

 _falling falling falling are you falling are you are you are you_

"I'm going for a walk," she said, stepping away.

She was barely outside when Embla grabbed her by the arm. Serana turned. Their eyes met.

"Em," she murmured, feeling out of air. "I – I'm –"

 _why can't you have it why can't you why can't_

"What do you need?" She asked, not letting go, giving Serana pause and forcing her to think. "Do you need some space? Some time? I'll give it to you, but we need to communicate –"

"Hold me," she exhaled, feeling her body shake. Embla did, sliding her palms up Serana's arms and then down to her waist, pulling her close until their torsos touched. She was so much shorter that Serana could comfortably rest her chin on top of her head, and so she did it, feeling the warmth that seemed to seep into her very bones.

 _I'm scared,_ she thought, feeling tears pool up on her eyes. _I'm scared of how happy you are. Of getting in your way. I'm scared… of trying to be happy, and failing._

"Stop thinking," Embla mumbled, face pressed to her shoulder. "You get this face when you're overthinking things and I can tell you're arriving at all the wrong conclusions."

 _Coward,_ a Voice hissed from deep within her, making her stomach turn. _Coward. Weak. Coward. Unworthy –_

She covered her ears with her sweaty palms. Embla pulled away from their hug and stared up at her. "What do you need, Serana?"

"Kiss me," she asked, closing her eyes, swallowing dry. She felt Embla's hands dance over her jaw, breath against her skin, fingers running through her hair, tugging her, making her bend down, and then lips pressing on hers, soft and incredibly warm.

The cruel rustles subsided.

 _love?_ the Voice, the one which came from herself, questioned not a thousand times as usual but only once.

 _I don't know,_ she answered, and then she snuck her fingers to Embla's nape and kissed her back.

* * *

The third thing Serana learned about Embla was that she was incredibly sly. This, too, she should have guessed – she had already pegged the elf as fiendishly smart and highly educated, something she could easily gauge from her position in the army. But it was only when they finally came to need external supplies that she witnessed the full glory of her cunning.

 _what is she doing doing doing what is she doing what_

 _Hush,_ Serana told her Voice. _I'm learning something. Not quite sure what, but something._

"Give me that cloth," Embla asked while she smeared dirt on her cheeks. Serana watched, fascinated, as she removed her belt and outer layers, stripping down to simple pants and a tunic. She wrapped the strip on her forehead, covering the tips of her ears.

"I can still tell you're an elf," She pointed out. "By the shape of your face. You know." Serana gestured vaguely. "High cheekbones and such."

"I'm not trying to pass as human," Embla replied, grabbing a string of simple rope and wrapping it around her waist to hold her pants in place. "It's the angle I'm trying to hide. Valenwood _bosmeri_ and city _bosmeri_ have marginally different ear placement. You wouldn't notice it if you weren't looking for it, but," she pointed at her face, "Your subconscious does. The overall picture is jarring."

 _pretty,_ the Voice mumbled, which she chose to aggressively ignore.

"Huh. What do you know." Serana watched her grab a knife and slice sloppy holes on the knees of her pants and the elbows of her shirt. They were on the peak of summer, and it was warm enough that even tropical-raised Embla could tolerate to walk without a coat.

"It's fucking freezing," the elf complained as if on cue. Serana rolled her eyes. "Could you hand me the Juniper?"

She did as she was told, the transformation process capturing her attention entirely. Embla rubbed the berries on her teeth, and the dark blue pigment accumulated between them, making them look rotten and uncared for.

"What exactly are you going for here?"

"The trick is to try for something in between," the other explained. "I can never fully pass for a city elf. I'm too short and I look too…" she trailed off.

"Wild?" Serana offered, watching her tie her hair up in a bun. "Fierce? Predatory? Like a man-eating savage?"

 _pretty?_

"All of it," she rolled up her left sleeve, but not her right one. "It's like trying to disguise a wolf as a dog. You would notice right away in most situations, but if the wolf was tied to a sled then the dogs-and-sleds association just might speak louder than that part of you screaming that is a damn wolf."

"So you're trying to look like…"

"Like a city elf who became a farmer," Embla clarified. "I have to play on the preconceived notions of people. One would _expect_ a wood elf to drop everything for a life closer to nature. It's just us going back to our roots! And if I seem a little feral, well, I do live off the land."

Serana gave her a once-over. "Do you really have to look so dirt-poor though?"

"The more I am what people want me to be, the less I have to pretend," she lectured. Serana nodded to keep her talking. "This is Eastmarch, heart of the rebellion. They don't like elves around here, so much that the dunmer in Windhelm are restricted to the slums. Discrimination is institutional. People _want_ me to be a pauper, so that they might feel better about their own misery, so I'll give them just that."

"Were you taught that? Does the Dominion have spy lessons to prepare their agents to this kind of thing?"

Embla tilted her head. "If they did, do you think they'd let a Bosmer reach this high up on their ranks? Altmer are shit at reading the non-mer. Well, at reading anyone, really. Empathy is not their strong suit." Her grin widened. "No, that's all… I suppose you could call a mixture of gut feeling and being observant. I work with people. I learn how they think, how they feel, how they act. I think…" She hesitated, made eye contact and smiled, this time in a soft way that just touched her eyes. "Most _bosmeri_ are highly aware but I think this… It's just my thing. It's always been my thing."

 _kind kind kind pretty and kind and pretty and kind and soft and –_

Serana stood abruptly, walked up to her and smoothed out her tunic and ruffled her hair, pulling a few streaks out of the knot. When Embla narrowed her eyes and stole a kiss, it tasted like juniper. Serana couldn't help leaning in for more, couldn't help the way her hands drifted to trace the shape of her lips and her heart ached even though it was still –

"You'll ruin my disguise," Embla murmured, smiling against her skin, and Serana felt her knees grow weak and the walls around her heart crumble.

 _wolf,_ the Voice warned. _not a dog that's no dog that's a wolf a wolf that's a damn wolf a_

 _No,_ Serana corrected. _That's a dragon._

* * *

The most unexpected thing Serana learned about Embla was how much of a people person she was. It seemed contradictory, but in her experience with physicians, she'd always found them to be people of science who rather stay in their labs and meet their patients only when entirely necessary for their experiments.

Serana had met very few people who did anything out the goodness of their hearts. She wasn't sure whether that was the case with Embla – and she was cautiously skeptical – but the fact was that once they had the shack in livable conditions, Serana had expected her to take a long period of isolation and meditating. Instead, she found Embla playing dress up outrageously early in the morning.

 _weird. soft and pretty and kind and weird. weird? weird weird –_

She rubbed sleep off her eyes, sitting up in bed. "This is a different setup," she pointed out, trying to kick her brain into gear. "You're bringing out the nice things."

"Yes," Embla hopped into her fancy pants – the hole-less ones she didn't use to go hunting – and dusted herself, then put on her belt and after a moment of thinking, attached her Thalmor badge on the inside of her coat so it was barely visible.

"Let me guess." She paused and thought for a couple minutes. Embla took the moment to grab a raw carrot from a bowl on top of the simple table they'd acquired sometime during the last week of renovations. "You're going for… poorly disguised Thalmor soldier? Isn't that dangerous?"

"A little, but it wouldn't work otherwise." Embla held the carrot between her teeth and ran her hands through her hair, making the strands roll free, then tying back part of them so they didn't fall on her eyes. She picked the carrot back up and bit off a chunk. "I'm going to the road. You know, the one that connects Kynesgrove and Windhelm."

"What for?"

"Work." Embla replied, bending over to lace up her boots.

 _can you trust her? can you trust her can you trust anyone can you protect her can you ever be safe can you –_

Serana rubbed her own arms and looked around. They had done a good work out of the cabin in very little time – something she would gladly take credit for, if only because she was otherworldly strong. She'd spent several hours with Embla actually standing on her shoulders to fix things on the roof. She'd lifted wooden beams and nailed things and ripped things off and she'd expected to be exhausted or annoyed by the somewhat pointless manual work which was way below her status, but she wasn't.

And at night, when they lied down together to stare at their work, Serana felt something dangerously close to satisfaction. Perhaps even joy. And yet –

 _and yet and yet and yet and yet_

She bunched the blankets on her hands, folding and twirling them between her fingers. She felt thirsty – in a regular, non-vampiric manner, the way one would feel after waking up from a night of heavy drinking. "When will you be back?"

"Dunno," she said between chewing. Serana watched her throat move when she swallowed. "Not too much after dark. Movement usually slows down then, and it's the best time for me to go hunting anyway."

She looked around again – a shack that felt homier than her own room ever had – and wondered if it would feel that way when she was alone inside it. No windows, only a single sloppy wooden door. She knew, rationally, that she could punch right through the walls if she wanted. And yet.

She was overcome with the abrupt need to cry.

 _I'm so fucking tired,_ she thought, or maybe said, she wasn't sure which. _Why can't I just have this –_

 _you know why you know you know you know –_

Embla turned to her with a frown and regarded her for a long while, her gaze lingering for so long it made the hairs on Serana's arms stand on end. And then, wordlessly, she closed the distance between them and sat on the edge of the bed. Serana took a deep, shaky breath.

"It's not the kind of tired that a night of sleep can fix, is it?"

Serana didn't trust herself to speak, so she shook her head.

Embla sighed and looked away. "Do you want to go with me? Watch me work?"

 _I'll never be whole,_ the thought crossed her mind with an air of unequivocal finitude, and she hid her face behind her palms, then let them slide to her hair, tugging it.

 _can't escape can't escape will never be whole will never be safe –_

Embla took her hand and pulled her up, then wrapped her arms around Serana's waist and pressed their bodies together. It took Serana a couple seconds to react and hug her back, feeling light-headed. She could feel Embla's heartbeat against her skin, and she stopped fighting the tears from pooling in her eyes.

 _should have seen it coming should have stopped it your fault your fault filthy unclean –_

"Follow me," Embla insisted. "Come on. We'll mess around with the Nords for a bit, and then we can catch a rabbit and make a bonfire and roast it, and when the moons are out we can walk to the hot springs for a bath. It'll be a good time."

"Okay," she mumbled, but didn't move. She fisted her hands around Embla's coat and let herself be led outside. The sun was out, but she couldn't bring herself to care even when it touched her cheeks and triggered the familiar burning itch. They were only a couple steps outside when Embla stopped and turned back to face her.

"Here," the elf said, stepping closer and pulling her hood up, making an entirely different kind of heat creep to her cheeks.

"Thanks," she caught herself saying, and took her hand again, and followed her up the hill.

* * *

"The secret there is to let them think I'm holding back information," Embla explained as she deftly skinned the rabbit. Serana listened attentively, gathering sticks for the fireplace. "They don't trust elves, so whatever information I willingly give, they'll be suspicious of."

"So you pretend you let it slip?"

"Yeah. Make them work for the information. The half-assed Thalmor disguise gives me credibility. They _know_ the elves have superior scientific knowledge. Pretending I don't want to give it away fits the evil-elf story they tell themselves."

"That is some next-level acting," She put the wood down, building a pyramid and placing the leftovers to the side. "Why do you do it? There are more efficient ways to get information. Travelers and peasants will hardly help you with high-level politics, unless you're schmoozing the help inside the Jarl's halls."

 _she's good she's good and you are not good you are not whole you are not –_

"Would you believe me if I told you that it isn't about me?" Embla opened a pouch with herbs and rubbed them on the meat. "It's just people. Sick people. They're suffering, and I know how to help, and I don't see why I shouldn't. Did you see that first one, that baby?"

"The one which wouldn't stop crying?" Serana stared at the unlit bonfire. "Think you could handle the fire? I can't really cast anything flammable."

Embla arched an eyebrow at her. "Really? Huh." She put the knife down, walked over to the wood and stared at it for a couple seconds, frowning, then whispered a single word. A moment later, flames were crackling and Serana felt the heat warm up her fingertips.

"He was having a mid-life crisis," Embla hummed, returning to where she sat and resuming her work. She said it in such a neutral tone, it took Serana a second to catch up.

"The baby was having a mid-life crisis?" She blinked, and then it clicked in her head. "Oh! Oh. Because he was going to die. Wait. That was a joke."

 _\- and fun and playful and everything you are not –_

There was a twinkle on Embla's eyes, but she didn't comment further on it. "It happens sometimes. They start with a swollen throat and instead of getting better some kids form these ring-shaped rashes and weird nodules under their skins." She grabbed one of the sticks and smoothed it out with her knife. "And then their joints go stiff and they lose control over their bodies and it only ends when their hearts stop for good. Pretty terrible way to go."

Serana watched the flames flicker, watched them reflect on Embla's eyes, barely blinking. She placed a hand over her heart without noticing. "Can we do something about it?"

"It's not daedric in the sense that blessings don't help at all," Embla impaled the slabs of meat with the sharpened stick. "Back in Alinor, there's this thing we do… with extracts made of bread mold. If you give it to every kid with a sore throat, then they don't develop it at all. Once it's settled in though, well, it's a bit harder to manage. You need the extract every month. Plus a special tea. Willow bark and myrtle."

"Will it help, what you told the parents?"

"Replacing myrtle with cinnamon and ginger might work, but I'm not sure if coneflower and garlic are an adequate substitute for the mold formula." Embla shrugged. "It's not the ideal solution. One way or the other, it's worth the try."

 _unworthy unworthy weak and dirty you can't trust anyone you can't trust –_

Her stomach turned. Embla positioned the meat to roast and absently started chipping at the bones with her knife. Serana watched her in silence for a while, only half focused, her own inner turmoil taking up most of her mental energy. She blew out her cheeks and then let the air out slowly. When the food was done, she found she didn't feel hungry at all.

"You got that look to you," Embla said between bites, the crackling of the fire filling the silence between her words. "I've been watching you, yeah? All those days, how you act, how you behave. Don't seem so surprised, I can see you watching me back." She put the roasting stick down. "You get this look often. Like you're not quite here. Like you're… anguished all the time. You grind your teeth at night, did you know? That's why they have these little ridges. I gather if you weren't a vampire, you'd be toothless by now."

 _She said she loves me,_ Serana reminded herself.

 _so did your father your father your father the man who gave you to –_

"I don't want to be alone," she found herself saying despite herself. "I need to. That's how I recharge, I – I sit by myself and read my books or take long walks. That's how I used to, at least. But now whenever I'm alone I just – the Voices, the bad ones, the ones that are really him, they – " she couldn't finish, so she looked away. They sat in stillness for a long moment. "I like being around you," she finally completed. "Because I can be quiet and awkward and shy and… it's as if I were by myself. But you still fill up the room in a way that keeps the bad things outside."

She felt the blush creep on her cheeks and saw Embla meet her gaze for a second, then return her eyes to the fire, every now and then glancing at her hands where she used the knife to sculpt something out of bone.

Serana basked in the heat for a moment, and she wasn't sure whether it came from the flames or from the other's presence. She moved her hand as if to reach out, then thought better of it and put it back down.

 _why did he do it why did he fucking do it you trusted him you let him lead you to –_

A wave of anguish and a wave of affection. A moment of anxiety and then a moment of unexpected joy. She'd been through a lot, survived more than anyone had a right to, and yet she'd never felt so close to breaking. In a way, she wished they'd never stopped – that they were still trapped in Oblivion, or diving into caves, or fighting or moving or _anything_ , anything but this, because the jumping around from happiness to despair would drive her out of her mind.

Embla was still scrimshawing. She watched it, watched knife meet bone and carve out intricate shapes, and was overcome with such a brutal sense of inadequacy she had half a mind to jump into the bonfire and pray that it would burn her away.

 _unworthy unworthy unworthy you destroy everything you touch destroy destroy_

It wouldn't. She'd tried it.

She reached out on impulse, grabbed Embla's wrist, felt the jolt it sent down her spine and the tingling warmth that crawled from her fingertips to under her skin, and she waited for the Voices to go still but they didn't, and so she caught herself wondering, once again, if that was all really just her.

"You deserve better."

Embla frowned, then resumed her crafting. "I'm not going to dignify that with an answer."

 _better if you'd been better if you'd done better if you'd known better –_

Embla put her knife down and stared at her handiwork – a pipe, made straight out of the rabbit's femur, the sides decorated with twirls and spikes that matched the tattoos on her skin. She placed a bowl on the ground, opened her satchel again and spilled things out – several still living beetles and what looked like Moon Sugar.

"You ever had bugsmoke?" She asked, crushing the beetles with the handle of her knife.

Serana shook her head.

"The color of the bugs determines the effect," she explained. "Well, not just that, but mostly it. Blue for inspiration," Embla pointed to the bug, "Red for passion. It's hard to find good bugs in Skyrim. Weather's so damn cold. I've never tried anything with torch bugs before," she turned the knife around, using the tip to mix the contents in the bowl. "I've heard they're good for relaxing."

"And the Moon Sugar?"

"For an extra kick," Embla said, scooping up the contents with her blade and carefully packing them inside the pipe. She took the tip to her lips and flickered her fingers under the base of the bone, making a flame come out. The contents immediately started smoking. Embla waited for a couple seconds, took a deep drag and then released smoke through her mouth. "Want to give it a try?"

 _trust her can you trust her can you trust her can you trust yourself know better you should know better –_

Serana hesitated, then took the pipe from her hands. She stared at it, unsure how to proceed. She'd never really smoked before.

"Put your mouth on the tip and pull it in, then release it through your nose," Embla explained, watching her with a twinkle on her eyes.

She did as she was told, or she tried to – the moment the bitter tasting smoke got into her lungs, she immediately broke into a fit of coughing. Embla laughed at her, taking the pipe back and giving it another smoke. "Nice try," she giggled. "You'll get used to it."

Serana inhaled the clean night air. She didn't feel any different, except for the fact that her fingertips were now tingling. She watched smoke seep out of Embla's nostrils, waiting for her turn. When she took the pipe back and made a new attempt, she managed to hold it in for a bit before coughing again.

Something seemed to shift inside her chest. She waited, but when it didn't happen again, she pegged it as her imagination.

 _is this real are you real what is real but the pain and the fear and HIM and HIS CLAWS and –_

"The Thalmor are probably looking for me at this point," Embla said, staring off into the distance, wind ruffling her hair. The smell of food still lingered in the air. "If I was half the woman you are, I'd own up to this shit already."

Serana turned to her in surprise. Embla didn't make eye contact, merely extended her the pipe again. This time, after she was done, Serana felt a definite buzz. Her body felt lighter. The world around her seemed to spin. Embla must have felt it, too, because she plopped down and stared at the sky.

"You're so fucking brave, Serana," she continued, crossing her arms over her chest. "I admire that, you know? You do what needs to be done. All I do is run away. And I do it so well, I forget who I really am. Even as we speak, I'm thinking about it. We could leave this whole nasty business behind. You ever been to the beach?"

 _sees the best in you doesn't see the weakness doesn't see the cracks doesn't KNOW BETTER_

"I live in an island." She let herself fall to the ground. The pipe went back and forth between them.

"I mean a real beach," Embla scoffed. "With hot sand under your toes and the sea so warm you could stay there all day. We could go to one of those. Back in Alinor, the boys used to make these… they were long wooden boards." She rolled to the side so she would face Serana. "And then they rode the waves on top of them."

 _liar liar you're lying to her and dragging her to a dark place like he did to you_

Serana listened, and stared, and tried to tune out her rising anguish. "It's not true," she muttered, hearing the words slur. "I'm not – I'm not brave. I just never do anything I really want. Scared I might fail. It's easy to just follow the script when there's nothing I care about." She hesitated, took a long drag, felt a wave of nausea and bravery. "I didn't, at least. Before I met you."

This time, when she extended her hands, her fingers brushed against Embla's and her skin responded to it, hairs standing on end. The electricity that traveled up her arm reached her chest and without warning her heart sprung to life, hammering, making her pulse roar in her ears. She recoiled with the surprise, dropping the pipe, feeling her breath pick up.

In her head, the Voices hissed. She clenched her teeth and tightened her fists.

"I –" _worthless worthless worthless worthless_ "I'm –" Without warning, she punched the ground in frustration. Embla narrowed her eyes, but didn't interrupt her. Serana took a deep, shaky breath, resisting the urge to cover her ears, the sounds in her mind escalating louder and louder –

"I love you," She managed and her heart skipped a beat.

In her mind, silence. Utter and complete. Like a breath held still, time seemed to stop around them. Embla reached out for her hand again, grabbed it, didn't let go when Serana tried to jerk it back, her touch like smoldering embers.

She made eye contact and stared, wide-eyed, paralyzed as Embla pulled herself closer and closer until their shoulders touched. Her hand was released then, and she yanked it back and placed it over her heart. She felt it drum against her chest.

It hurt.

"Serana –"

"Wait." She was hyperventilating, or starting to, and deliberately took control of her breathing. "Let me – let me say this. I feel like if I can only get it out I'll – I don't know. I don't –"

 _right in front of you see what's right in front of you_

"Be able to trust yourself again?"

"Control. I want to be in control. Of myself. I want this." She pressed her lips together and counted to ten. "I want you to touch me and – and I want to _be_ here when you do. And experience it. Fully. I want –"

Her voice broke, and she took note of the tears running down her cheeks. They seemed to flash all sorts of colors when they touched the grass. Embla's aura, ever so bright, was more intimidating than it had ever been.

 _the end of you_

"Fuck," she mumbled, wiping her eyes with the back of her arm. Her feelings felt like acid flowing from her stomach up her throat. "I – divines, just put me out of my misery and fuck me already."

Embla watched her for what felt like forever, burning gaze peering into her very soul. "I don't think that's what you need," she said finally, and snuck one arm under her neck and pulled her into a tight hug. She barely had time to emit a strangled sound of surprise before it turned into a sob, and she pressed her face against Embla's shoulder and let her entire body shake.

"Boards," Embla murmured, resting her chin on top of Serana's scalp. "It's the oddest sight. They try to outrun the crest of the wave as it collapses. They usually don't, and resurface a few seconds later spitting water and sand. But sometimes they manage it, and when they do, the whole beach cheers."

 _pain,_ the Voice abruptly resurfaced. _pain pain pain pain pain –_

For a moment, she wasn't sure who it was talking about.

"There was a boy," Embla continued, absently tangling her fingers on Serana's hair. "Astor. He studied the movement of the stars and of objects that fell down, which is an odd combo, but he kept trying to explain me that both move for the same reason." She halted her movements for a fraction of second. "We had a… thing going on, and then I panicked, and maybe that's why I enlisted. That's why I left. Or maybe it was because Calia – my mentor at the College – she saw potential in me. She wanted me to push for a job as her assistant. Eventually to become a professor. I don't know. Things were falling into place but I –"

Serana felt her tremble, but didn't dare look up, not even when she felt dampness touch her scalp. She reached out for the pipe lying between them, the tip already cold. Embla took it from her hands and lit it again, then handed it over. Serana took a drag, the discomfort from her heartbeat lessening. When she looked at the moons, she had the distinct impression they were staring back at her.

 _she shows you her wounds so that you may feel safe around her,_ the Voice whispered in a moment of clarity, _safe are you safe are you ever safe are you –_

"I get it," she murmured, and Embla shifted her arm so it held her tightly.

"I'm the kid with a plan, usually," Embla babbled. "Well, when I'm not freeing rebellion leaders on impulse. But that's – that's me breaking down." She exhaled. "I needed this – I needed a moment to think. To figure things out, so I don't start running again. But I'm stumped. Suddenly my life has a… a god? And… the throne, maybe? And vampires? And – And – And – _slek –_ I don't know what to do, but – but – _fucking Cyrodiilic_ –"

"It's the drugs," she splurted.

Embla laughed. Serana found herself joining her. Her heart drummed under her sternum, erratic, speeding and slowing as if it wasn't quite sure what to do with itself after being still for so long.

"But?" she pressed when they regained control.

Embla pulled away, touching the length of her arm as she did it, until her hand met Serana's and their fingers interlaced. "But I think it's about time I hold my ground and own up to what I really want. So I'm not letting you go – for as long as you'll have me."

Serana squeezed her hand and brought it up her chest, feeling her pulse quicken and the warmth seep into her insides and fill the cracks in her soul.

 _why can't you have this why can't you –_

"Okay," she exhaled, and stared at twirling stars, and squeezed her hand. "I love you."

It was easier, the second time, even though it still made her squirm, even though it was enough to set her into a panic, because she knew now she had something to lose, and she didn't think she could survive it if she did.

 _You can't die,_ the unwanted thought intruded. _You would survive, because you can't die, you've tried to die, you would live on and on and be alone and remember what you lost and regret every single moment of this thing you don't deserve –_

"I love you too," Embla rolled closer and covered Serana's torso with her small frame.

 _is it enough? are you enough?_

She didn't want to know. She closed her eyes and let the mixture of warmth and dizziness and the sound of her heartbeat lull her to sleep.

It was still there when she woke up in the morning, the slightest propulsion under her fingertips when she touched them over her ribs.

Serana realized she didn't want it to stop.


	12. Chapter 12

"C-c-cold," Embla muttered, hopping from one foot to the other. "Cold, cold, cold, cold –"

"It was you who wanted to come here," Serana pointed out, walking besides her. "I told you I've _been_ to Blackreach, back when there were still Dwemer. I know the way."

Even with her face hidden behind a mask that made her look like an Elsweyr robber, the howling wind was still enough to make the tip of her nose so cold she worried it would necrotize and fall off. She licked her lips and thought about the crackling of a warm fireplace and how the sun felt on her back when she made her way on top of the trees in Valenwood.

 _"Yol,"_ she murmured, and a wave of warmth overtook her, temporarily stopping her shivers. Her bandit bandana steamed. She cleared her throat. "Yes, well, I'm not a demigodly creature –"

"That's exactly, _literally_ what you are –"

" – an effectively immortal being of the shadows," Embla continued as they made their way from the precarious stairs that led to the College of Winterhold and into one of the corridors, "And I need to do research before I jump into ancient ruins. Actual preparation. It's odd that no one has come to greet us yet – oh Night Mother's tits that's Ancano," she did a hundred and eighty degrees turn and pushed Serana back.

"What? Who?" Serana blinked, a half smile forming on her lips. Embla had half a mind to smack her. "Thalmor friend of yours?"

"Let me make something exceedingly clear," she hissed, shoving the other around a corner so they were safely out of sight. "Every single Altmer in the Thalmor has a stick shoved so deep up their asses it comes out their mouths. Thalmor and green-skinned immediately means self-righteous dick. All my friends in the army were Khajiiti."

"Got it," Serana raised her palms. "No fluffy fur and twitchy tail, no friend."

"What? Not every Khajiit has fur and tail, the Ohmes look exactly like – you know what, that was racist. You are so racist – Dagon's hairy asshole, it's cold. _Yol._ "

Steam came off her nose. She blew hot air on her gloved hands, to no use. "Whatever. I had no idea Ancano was stationed here. I told Ondolemar that I'd go to Winterhold but we took a very long detour and your goons came here before us and I can explain neither."

Serana smiled. "Let me handle it. I'll rough him up a little."

"What –"

Before she could further protest, Embla was shoved back with strength enough to make her trip on her own feet and fall on her butt. She saw Serana wince and mouth out a _'sorry',_ but her attention was quickly captured by more important matters – Ancano had interrupted his reading and turned towards the sound.

 _Don't recognize me, don't recognize me,_ she prayed to the heavens.

"Agent Woodwalker? I've been expecting you, under orders of High Justiciar Ondolemar. I've been expecting you… for a long while."

" _Slek_ ," she hissed, glaring daggers at Serana and jumping to her feet. She cleared her throat and dusted snow off her pants. "Agent Ancano. You have every reason to wonder. The truth is, I met quite a few complications on the road and had to take a detour –"

She was cut short abruptly when Serana took a step forward and abruptly shifted into a cloud of bats that flew her way. Then, just as fast as it had begun, the woman materialized herself next to Embla and slammed her palm on Ancano's sternum, sending him flying until his back hit the wall and he slumped to the ground, clutching his chest and coughing.

 _What the –_

Serana grabbed her nape and yanked her closer, until their faces almost touched. There was a twinkle of malice in her eyes, and perhaps a twinkle of something else – anger? Desire? Resentment?

Something squeezed at Embla's chest, and she let out a strangled sound.

"Now what do we have here," Serana smirked, running a finger down Embla's jawline. "Were you gossiping with your elf friends again, dear? I hope not. We talked about this, didn't we?"

It took Embla a split second to catch up to the performance. "Y-yes," she stuttered, purposefully widening her eyes.

"Yes what?"

Serana's shit-eating grin was almost enough to make Embla lose all her composure and yank her by the collar for a kiss. Instead, she swallowed down a snarl, eyes darting to the man on the floor. "Yes, ma'am," she grit her teeth. "No contact with my – my former superiors."

"And you," she turned to him, "How much did she tell you, huh? How much did this little rat talk?" She let go of Embla's neck and raised her palm, bits of ice catching on her leather clad fingers. "No matter. Only one way to tie this loose end."

"What is the meaning of this?" A voice sounded from the side, and a tall Altmer woman walked in, pausing to look at Ancano. "You. Of course. Every single trouble must have you involved, mustn't it?"

"We're looking for the library," Embla chimed, eager to defuse the situation, frowning at the oddly familiar stranger. "There's no issue here, ma'am, my uh – my companion merely ran into the mister on accident, but they were just about to make up."

"Library is closed for non-members," The woman snapped. "So is the College. You should not be here. Now, if you could take your leave – "

"Wait. I know you." She pinched the bridge of her nose, struggling to remember. "You're Faralda. You were a guest lecturer for my class once. Taught us the three master spells of elemental destruction magic. I've never seen anyone cast such a powerful lightning storm in my life."

"You're from Alinor?" Faralda tilted her head.

"Biology and medicine, 377th class. I've been stationed in Skyrim for a few years now. I'm investigating something under orders of the Dominion, and it turns out I need some research on the local Dwemer ruins."

"The library is closed," she repeated, seeming thoughtful this time. Embla watched her eyes dart from Ancano to Serana and back to her. "It's afterhours. But I suppose an exception could be made, for the sake of our good relations with the Thalmor. Follow me."

Serana threw an arm around her shoulder, drumming her fingers against Embla's arm. "Good girl," She smirked, then leaned closer to whisper, "She was watching us. She saw me knock him around."

Embla processed that new information and how to incorporate that into the roles they were playing. Serana's intentions had been clear from the start: she was taking the blame for Embla's lack of contact by making herself a controlling tyrant. But they hadn't factored another politic group into the act – the University of Alinor.

 _I should have seen this coming,_ Embla chided herself. _I should have known the College of Winterhold would have agents from both sides of the Dominion. I should have –_

Serana pulled her, and she walked along, leaving Ancano to tend for himself, still bent over from the pain. Embla had never taken a smack from Serana – not without consenting, at least – and it was easy to forget how much destructive potential she had, not only because of her raw strength but because of how _intelligent_ she was.

By threatening to kill Ancano while knowing she was being observed, she'd put Faralda to a test, and now Embla knew that the altmer was above letting Ancano die, but not above letting him take a roughing up.

She ran a hand through her hair, thinking. She had two options – they could keep up the act, or she could open up and spill information on the hopes that it would reach Alinor University. It was a gamble. As far as she knew, Ancano and Faralda could have their own theater going on, and she would just be showing off her own treason. As far as she knew, the safest thing was to give as little information possible.

Faralda led them through a door and into the artificially warmed up library. She clicked her fingers, and the lamps on came to life. Embla heard the door be shut behind her and came to a decision. She turned around, grabbed the key and turned it twice, then checked to make sure it was locked. Faralda didn't stop her, even when she saw her fingers move to cast a spell of Muffle.

Then she let herself fall into one of the fancy armchairs around the place, shrugging off her coat as she did, stared at the roof and sighed. "Do you think he bought that?"

"I wouldn't know, Altmer aren't exactly my field of expertise," Serana replied, taking a seat.

"But they are definitely _mine_ ," Faralda retorted. "Good to see you and your presumed captor are on such good terms. I assume there's an explanation for this, or else Ancano will be hearing of it, regardless of whether your deception was effective."

Embla made an indistinguishable sound of frustration and exhaustion. "You better sit down, then. Who's Arch-Mage?"

"Savos Aren holds the title, but Mirabelle Ervine runs the place."

The names were unfamiliar. Embla shifted on her seat, straightening her back against the chair. " _Slek._ Don't know them. What about Ali? I haven't heard from them in forever. Who's dean?"

"Loralia Graylor currently holds the title – I should be the one asking questions here."

"Loralia," she repeated, thoughtful. "From mathematics. Good choice. You're right though, I suppose I owe you an explanation. Are you on par with the latest developments inside the Thalmor?"

"Do you mean," She walked over to them, crossed her arms and stared at Serana. "The vampires? Or the dragons? Or the fact that there's a dragonborn loose that we know nothing about, and the Thalmor keeps the University in the dark about all of it?"

"Yes, yes, well," Embla leaned forward and rested her face on her hands. "It's me. I'm the dragonborn. And Serana here," she gestured with her chin. "Serana Volkihar. I'm sure you've heard of them. She's, well, she's the vampire crisis."

"You're – she's – what?"

"I told you a seat might be in order," she snapped. "I'm the dragonborn. It was an accident. I'm no Aedrologist – that's Serana – she can fill you in with the details while I do my research. But it's me. I've met up with the Greybeards, I – I haven't reported it to the Thalmor. Obviously. The implications…" she trailed off, then shrugged.

"Extraordinary," Faralda muttered. "Unbelievable, yes, but assuming you are right, the Thalmor would be filing the claims for the throne already. You have no empress dreams, it seems?"

"I have _problems_ ," she hissed. "I'm holding back the apocalypse from two different ends and I don't have the time to get myself neck deep in politics when the vampires want to blot out the sun and a literal aspect of Auri-el is loose to devour the world."

"A semblance of order is needed for this report. Fill me in on the vampires first."

"That would be me," Serana interrupted, leaning back against the chair and crossing her legs at the ankles. "Charmed to meet you. Those interested in my kind might have heard of me, and those not particularly fascinated by the topic surely have heard of my family, at least." She smiled. "I presume you are the latter?"

"Correct. I know the basics."

"That should suffice. There's a prophecy. I'm not privy to all the details, except it involves Auri-el's bow being used as the means to plunge the world in eternal darkness. My father has been obsessed with it for millennia, and with my return, he finally has the means to find it."

"Auri-el's bow has been missing since the third era," Faralda pointed out. "It was last seen in Morrowind. How do you expect to find it?"

"By walking around with Akatosh's demigod?" Serana shrugged. "And with the help of the Elder Scrolls. Three of them, to be precise. I was sealed away with one, and Embla and I managed to get a hold of another –"

"In Oblivion," Embla offered. "Long story. I opened the Gates. For, uh. A short while. It was… painful."

"It was you," Faralda squinted. "The disturbance. That was you."

She broke eye contact and gestured Serana to continue.

"So. The third Elder Scroll. My people have tracked it down to Blackreach – you might have met them, or maybe you didn't. I'm not privy to their methods, sometimes they just sneak around. Regardless, we're here for information. Embla insisted." She shrugged. "So here I am. She's the boss, I tag along."

A wink. She felt heat crawl to her cheeks and cleared her throat. "I know it's a lot to take in," she picked up the tale, not giving the other time to think. "But I lost contact with Ali-U and they'd take too long to… deliberate and vote an action. I have to keep moving. We have the Scrolls, but Harkon has funds and means to find the bow."

"There's too much missing information here," Faralda cut her short. "If he has the resources, why doesn't he have the bow yet? And why is his – daughter?" Embla nodded a confirmation. "Why is his daughter the one sabotaging the plan?"

"Auri-el's bow can't be held for long, as I'm sure you know." Serana replied, tapping her finger on the arm of the chair. "Much less by vampires. There was no reason for him to seek it before, because he didn't have the last ingredient to fulfill the prophecy: me. And I'm not keen on being a sacrifice _again_. So I suppose that answers both your questions."

"I need it," Embla added, not sure of what she meant to say after, letting the words escape her lips. "It's important that I have it. Because – because of the dragons. It's all connected. I need the bow. I can't strike down a god without a proper weapon."

"Stop. Go back. You lost me again. What is it about the dragons?"

She ran her fingers through her hair, throwing it back. They were trembling. She opened and closed her fists to try and contain it. There was a surrealism to the events that had taken part on the last few months, but now, face-to-face with someone who represented the very institution who raised her, she suddenly felt the thin veil of mysticism collapse into brutal reality.

"The dragons," She said, taking a deep breath. "The dragons, they – they – _slek,_ I'm sorry, I'm – I'm – " she paused, shook her head and then made the full switch to Aldmeris. It wasn't her mother tongue, granted, but it was close enough and she'd had plenty of practice. "The dragons are the last thing in a series of foretold events," she spoke faster, "Which are destined to end with Alduin – an aspect of Akatosh – facing down the Last Dragonborn in a battle that will essentially decide whether the world ends."

Too restless to remain sitting, she hopped to her feet, removing another of her coats as she did. "And I know it sounds like a lot of Nord mysticism, but the objective facts are that the dragon-god is loose, and I'm the thing who's supposed to stand between him and another Dragon Age. Conversely –" she calculated things, thoughts hopping ahead. "I hold the same status a dragon does, sociologically speaking. Beating him would grant me his title. I'd have… a claim to the throne and unmatched power."

 _Not meant for me. This was definitely not meant for me._ "Serana, can you – ah," she actively reminded herself to switch back to Cyrodiilic, "Can you fill her in on the details? Your findings, everything. I need to read up on Blackreach."

Serana stood, walking to one of the many long tables in the library. "I'll need a quill, string, some nails and a lot of paper. Are you familiar with Aedric Studies?"

"The study of our ancestors and of Aetherius is a required field for all Altmeri," she replied, walking over to a closet and taking out the requested materials. Embla hesitated for a second, then took a quill herself. "Will you need any help locating your books?"

She took a look at the shelves and how they were arranged. "I'm fine. Seems to be mostly the same system as Ali's library." Embla touched her fingers to the spine of a book, then ran them over others as she walked, looking for the right material.

 _Class nine-hundred for history and geography,_ She racked her memory. _Ancient History was…nine-thirty?_

She stopped at the shelf tagged nine-hundred and browsed through the topics, until she found the section dedicated to Dwemer history. Embla grabbed all three volumes of _Dwemer Inquiries_ and made her way back to the table. She knew Dwemer history as much as anyone else – how they advanced technology and civilization, and how they came to an unexpected, abrupt end.

Whether they were dead or transported somewhere remained a mystery, and the magic of their disappearance remained one of the biggest mysteries of the Arcane. Embla could only name a single other event that uniformly affected an entire race, and that was the turning of Chimer to Dunmer, which was the work of Daedra. She dropped the books with a _thump_ and pulled out a blank journal from her bag, then sat down and started reading.

Next to her, Serana had nailed sheets of paper on top of the desk and was currently at work connecting them with a line. Faralda had crossed her arms and watched it with the fierce interest that only academics faced with something extraordinary could ever muster. Embla tuned them out and focused on her studies.

Garan had saved her a lot of work by writing down a short explanation of what Blackreach was and tracking down the three possible entrances to the caves, but Embla still took a moment to read up on each of the possible ruins, in the hopes that they would reveal any useful information.

Of the three former cities, Alftand was, by far, the largest. The former city was the center of the Dwemer religion and, however skeptical they were, it was also the most powerful settlement in Skyrim. Mzinchaleft, she learned, used to be a mining city, while Raldbthar worked as a commercial center.

She wrote down that information and its implications – Alftand would mean the longest path, but Mzinchaleft would likely have the greatest number of automatons and Raldbthar, although seeming by far the best option, rested in the heart of Stormcloak territory, and soldiers had reclaimed the surface structures to use as a military base.

Researching was a rabbit hole, and Embla knew that well. She found herself branching out her studies and reading up on the Falmer, then on the Chaurus, then on the mushrooms used to blind the Falmer and what other fungus she could find in the ruins, and then –

"Oh, you're up," Serana's voice rung on her ears.

Embla opened her eyes and rubbed them. She was lying on the library's couch, and a blanket had been thrown over her. "I fell asleep?"

"On your desk, on top of your journal. Don't worry, I managed to catch you before you spilled ink all over your notes and yourself." She smiled, lazily gazing at her, sunlight reflected on her eyes. "It was a bit endearing, honestly."

Embla felt heat on her cheeks, and then something else – a twinge of concern. A sense that something was off, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. "Where's Faralda?"

"Left after my stellar demonstration," Serana crossed her legs. "She'll write your friends at Alinor. Said she'd cover for us – said she understand the need for immediate action. But, Em," she paused, broke eye contact. "You'll have to answer to it eventually. I'm not a specialist in Altmer politics. They might shield you from the Thalmor when the time comes. But –"

Her intuition went into overdrive. She rubbed her face with her palm. She couldn't pinpoint what was wrong, but – "You're angry."

Serana didn't answer. Embla stood, walked to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, then pushed her against her seat until her back. She leaned in and locked eyes with Serana, and realized that the effect doing this used to have on her – the violent wave of fear and desire – was gone and replaced by something else.

Respect. Concern. Love. She couldn't name it. "You're angry at me."

"Can't get anything past you, can I?"

"Can get a lot past me," She frowned, straddling Serana's lap and letting her hands drift to her jawline. She saw her pupils dilate and then, again – a spark of something else, on the way her brow barely furrowed, on the way her lips tipped down ever so slightly. "Not sure what you're angry at. But you are."

"I'm not sure what I'm angry at, either," Serana held her waist. "Well, I'm always angry. At the world. At – at things that hurt. All the time. But then – then for a while, they didn't hurt so bad. And now I'm afraid. And that makes me angrier. I'm – I'm not making any sense."

Embla took a moment to process it. "I don't understand it," she let her fingers trail down to Serana's hands, holding her wrist and bringing it to her chest. "But I feel it all the same."

"My heart's beating," Serana whispered. "It hasn't stopped beating. And it hurts. But it hurts in a good way. I feel – " she hesitated. "Alive. But it scares me. There are bigger forces at play here. Akatosh, Molag Bal, you, the throne… It makes me wonder if it started beating only to be ripped out. If that – that ending is foretold."

"That's not how Elder Scrolls work," Embla touched her fingertips to Serana's sternum. "They tell what could be, not what will be. You know that. And bigger forces fuck up too. I'm proof of it."

She snuck her fingers under Serana's shirt and trailed them up to her left ribcage, then leaned in and pressed their lips together, and then she felt it – the apex of Serana's heart under her skin, pushing fast, as if it hadn't beat for thousands of years and was now trying to make up for it.

"I feel it," she repeated. Serana leaned forward to meet her, but she shoved her back, roughly, then kissed her again. "I feel you. I love you. And we're a demigodly creature and an effectively immortal being of the shadows. We'll be fine."

Embla pulled back and stared at her, once again searching her face for a hint of worry or relief or resentment – or anything. But the other had schooled her expression into something neutral and unreadable.

"Kiss me," Serana commanded.

Embla stared for a second longer, and felt something squeeze at her chest, and then she did as she was told.

* * *

 _Hiss. Clack. Clang._

Faces sculpted on the walls. Watching her.

 _Hiss. Clack. Clang._

She had been raised in Valenwood, where heat and damp were the norm, and yet the air in Alftand felt different – stale.

 _Hiss. Clack. Clang._

It was all around her, the sense of death. Or not quite death, but something different. Something else. They were deep inside the ruins, deep enough that Embla would wager they were the first to set foot in those halls in thousands of ears.

 _Hiss. Clack. Clang._

The sound of steam leaking off tubes and gears grinding against one another. Echoes. Echoes, but unlike in the Throat of the World, she couldn't even hear her own footsteps.

 _Hiss. Clack. Clang._

"Gears," she heard Serana mutter under her breath. "Gears and pears and tears and fears –"

Serana wasn't doing well. She could tell, was acutely aware of the festering wound in her soul as much as she would be aware if it were on her own limbs. Serana wasn't doing well, and Embla wanted to help, she really did, but she wasn't doing that well either.

 _Hiss. Clack. Clang._

Alftand was an aberration. The deepest they went, the more she could feel it seeping into her very bones – something wrong had happened there, something unspeakable, and if she looked carefully she could still spot evidences of it – beds half made, forks dropped on the floor, the unbearable stench of things that had been rotting for thousands of years.

Embla had always wondered, as had every single person educated on the Arcane, what in oblivion had happened to the Dwemer. But there, wondering the very halls where elves not so different from her would offer their prayers, she knew enough.

She knew it was something sinister. She could taste it. She could feel the way it made her hairs stand on end. And that was more than enough for her curiosity. She didn't want to know anything else.

 _Hiss. Clack. Clang._

" – and spears and smears and years and dears and gears gears gears –"

Faces on the walls, watching her. Every corridor looked the same, and they were guided exclusively by clairvoyance spells that they would alternate casting every time they reached a corner. It was a strain on the both of them, and Embla wasn't sure they haven't been walking endless circles.

 _Hiss. Clack. Clang._ _Screeeeeeeee –_

One second she was walking, and on the next, almost faster than her brain could register, she was pressed tight against a nook on the wall, one of Serana's hands covering her mouth and the other holding her by the waist. And then something rolled into her camp of vision, yet another of what seemed like endless patrolling Spheres. Embla held her breath and watched it move out of sight.

She counted to ten, then twenty, and then stepped out of their hiding spot. "Okay," she muttered. "I think we're –"

Serana wasn't hearing. Embla could tell because of the way her eyes glazed over, firmly staring at emptiness, and the way her hands would, every now and then, move to cover her ears. She could tell Serana was in pain, because she could see tears pool and her jaw clench.

 _Hiss. Clack. Clang._

Embla touched her, interlaced their fingers. It was enough to make her refocus. She had no sense of location inside the ruins, something which was maddening to a Valenwood elf used to telling directions by the position of the sun. And she had no sense of time. But she _did_ have a sense of empathy.

"Let's find one of those side rooms and stop for today," she suggested, and saw Serana nod in response.

Steam hissed and gears grinded and metal hit against metal steadily, rhythmically, like a heartbeat. Embla didn't let go of her hand.

 _The whole city is an automaton,_ she realized, _and we are but another pair of souls trapped inside._

* * *

Every once in a while, across the heavy metal doors, Serana could hear the rumbling of a sphere roll through the corridors. It had scared them the first couple times, but despite being horrifying death machines, the automatons didn't seem particularly interested in picking a fight. They'd move around, every once in a while stopping to tend to maintenance tasks, and as long as they kept out of their direct line of sight, they were unbothered.

 _the closer you let them, the deepest they hurt you,_ the Voice whispered in her ear, and Serana grit her teeth. _your tears your fears your gears –_

"I hope you're not sick of beef jerky sandwiches," Embla said, extending her the dinner. "It's that or Chaurus and mushroom omelettes, but we already had that yesterday."

They hadn't had any run in with the Falmer yet, and Serana didn't expect to meet any before they reached the lowest levels, not when there were so many automatons roaming. But she'd caught glimpses of plenty of Chaurus, scurrying on the walls and the roofs, and their eggs were all around, just like the mushrooms growing on the cracks of the floor

 _the closes you let them, the deepest you hurt them_

Serana took a bite of her sandwich and chewed. She'd always thought herself immortal – and she _was_ virtually unkillable – but before she met the dragonborn, she'd never been so acutely aware that she couldn't handle all situations by herself. "Thank you," she mumbled, her mouth still full, and then added, "Couldn't have done this without you."

Embla tilted her head, as if the very notion confused her. "Of course not. Planes of Oblivion and Dwemer ruins aren't things made to be faced alone. Most things aren't."

 _alone alone alone alone –_

She hadn't fed in far too long – a couple months, at least. And the Voices were getting worse, more numerous and more aggressive, like she knew they would. She knew she should have fed before they entered Alftand, should have made a run for the local town or bandit camp, but she hadn't wanted to. Serana didn't want to feed.

 _feed feed feed you'll have to feed you have to you have to –_

 _I don't want to,_ she repeated to herself over and over, and filled her mouth with food to make sure she wouldn't speak without meaning to. She could feel Embla's watchful eyes on her. She could feel her concern. It brought a warm tingling to her fingertips.

Under her sternum, her heart beat.

 _you'll hurt her. you know you will._

 _I won't._

She watched Embla open her backpack and prepare a bedroll, swiping the ground with her feet to kick out scrap metal and what she was pretty sure were a couple emeralds. Because Alftand was the core of Dwemer religion, it was riddled with innumerable riches, and though the upper layers of the city had long been laid bare, for the last day or so they had been passing enough loot to last several mortal lifetimes.

Serana didn't bother to pick it up – her family already had thousands of years of accumulated goods and power. But Embla never stopped to pick it up either, not even when, as was the case, things were right below her feet.

Serana found that fascinating.

"You're not very materialistic, are you?"

"Huh?" Under the glow of the odd blue-green Dwemer lamps, the rings under her eyes seemed deeper.

 _you're hurting her._

"We keep passing treasure to die for and you don't seem to mind. I'm pretty sure you just kicked ten years of your salary in emeralds over there. Aren't Bosmer supposed to be the sneaky thief types?"

"That's –"

"Racist, I know." Serana smiled. Embla smiled back. Her heart picked up pace. "Is it a non-Valenwood thing?"

"It's a Valenwood thing, but outsiders don't understand it." She leaned her back against the wall and stared off into the distance, fingers drumming against her lap. The look on her face was unreadable.

 _you're hurting her just like he hurt you –_

"Will you explain?" Serana asked despite herself. Embla looked at her. Again, her heart raced. She resisted the urge to put her hand above it.

"Have you heard about the Rite of Theft?"

 _coward._

"No," she replied, unsure to whom. Embla tilted her head at the tone, but didn't comment on it.

"The principle of it is simple. You steal something from someone, then offer to return it as long as you get a boon of the same worth in return. It's a way to honor the gods – Nocturnal of the shadows and Lorkhan the trickster."

"So, a ransom?"

 _too coward to see it to coward to walk away_

"No. We don't – you don't get it. We don't own things like you do, it's…" She paused, took a moment to think. "I lived in a tribe. Things belonged to the tribe – I shared a hut with the other women, and the food I caught belonged to the tribe, the things, the tools, everything. The objects that were mine, they were… tokens." She tapped her palm on her leather armor. "I don't own this armor, or this sword, or this bedroll. But I own my arrows, because I made them myself, and to each there's a story. I own my tattoos. I own the crest I carry, because it reminds me of what I had to leave behind to get it."

"You have all you need because the group provides – food, weapons, a place to live. And so things don't have inherent worth," Serana concluded. "Only the meaning you assign to them."

Embla's face lit up. "Yes! Exactly. A gem isn't any more valuable than a common rock, and if that rock means something to me, then it is worth more than any emerald. That's – that's how we get married," She broke eye contact, and Serana saw a blush creep on her cheeks. "When, um, when one of us feels ready, they'll leave their biggest treasure vulnerable, so the other may steal it and ask for their hand in return. That's what the Rite of Theft is about. It's a trade. A memory for a wish."

 _a memory for a wish,_ the Voice echoed in her mind.

"Here," Embla grabbed her quiver and ran her fingertips over the arrows, one by one, and then pulled out one in particular. The shaft was metal, but the tip was made of bone. "This is – our first hunt together." She hesitated. "Remember? We were going up the Throat of the World. I saw the rabbit, and I pulled out the bow to kill it, but before I could shoot you threw a knife and hit it. Because you're. Um. Competitive."

Serana let a smirk cross her features, and dragged herself closer to examine it. It was, by all means, a normal arrow. "Yes."

"This is…" Embla looked at her and hesitated. "This is ours."

A shiver ran through her spine. A moment of silence in her haunted mind. She extended her hand and touched the arrow's tip, feeling a spark crawl up her fingertips. "Ours," she repeated, goosebumps breaking out her skin. "That feels… intimate."

 _too good for you she's too good for you_

"Yeah. It is." Embla smiled, then put the arrow away and hugged her knees. "What about you? Do you own anything?"

She considered the question, then snuck her hand in her pocket and pulled something out – a coin. Embla tilted her head, and Serana tossed it to her. She caught it midair and flipped it between her fingers. "This is ancient. Is this… Ysgramor?"

"The first human ruler of Skyrim, yes. He was king when I got it. I don't remember a lot from being a child, but I remember this – this day." She took a deep breath and let the sounds of machinery be the only things to break the silence for a while. Embla didn't pressure her – she never did – and so she took her time. "I was too young to understand how exactly my father got to be a king, but it was on this day – he held me in his arms and called me his little princess, and then ma picked me up and he – "

She was crying. That was all she seemed to do lately – cry, and ache, and hurt people, and cry over aching and hurting people in an infinite cycle that she couldn't break free of.

"What did the sky look like?" Embla asked abruptly, moving closer so that their shoulders bumped.

 _blue bright biting cold_

"It had snowed the night before, but on that day the sun was out and it was almost blinding, the way it reflected off the ice." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Skyrim was colder back then. Though that might just have been me. I didn't like wearing a coat."

Embla snorted. Her heart ached. Serana rested her head on Embla's shoulder, tentatively, and blushed when the other threw an arm over her shoulder. "Where were you?"

 _plains and giants and a river_

"Whiterun. It was different. Smaller. Almost a village." She leaned into Embla's touch. "We were meeting with him. Ysgramor, I mean. Ma showed me around. There was a forge – is there still a forge?"

"Yeah. Makes good steel. Skyforge."

"Skyforge. Yes. Ma was cunning, had always been, but dad – I think he wasn't fit to lead. It broke him. I don't know."

"And the coin?"

 _hold onto it sweetheart and one day_

"He picked me up and kissed my cheeks. Before he walked into the meeting. And then he gave me the coin and told me to keep it so one day he would trade it with me for another coin. One with my face on it." She closed her eyes. Her nose was stuffy. "And it felt like things would be okay."

"That's why you're angry," She quipped, and Serana could almost see the gears turn inside her head as she made all the right connections once again. "Your father. Me. The throne. That's the link between us two. You're worried that I'll take it, and it'll do to me what it did to him."

"Can't get _anything_ past you," she rubbed her face. "Yeah. I suppose. Dad was… he was kind. And then he wasn't. He likes to say power takes precedence, but it wasn't always that way."

"I won't take it," Embla replied, her tone firm. "I don't want it. And even if I did, you're – you're more important anyway. I'll stay away from any thrones. We'll handle our…situations, and then we can just leave. Somewhere warm. We'll change our names, I don't care. But I'm not taking it."

"Em…"

"I mean it. I promise."

 _promises that can't be kept from people you trust the most_

"There's something else. Dad's always had his… ghosts. In his head. Like I do. And it scares me that I might – that I might become him, or something worse."

"Serana." A pause. "You have a choice. There's always a choice. And you won't choose to go down that path. I know you won't."

 _won't you_

Embla's fingers on her skin left a burning trail. Serana saw her aura when she looked at them, stronger than ever – deflecting light like crystals, and as warm as the sun. "They say time's supposed to heal all wounds. I've lived awfully long, and I'm still waiting."

"A festering wound doesn't heal by itself," Embla replied. "Some things, you'll need help with. And that's okay. You don't have to – to do it all at once. If you slip, I'll – I'll understand."

 _slip_

"If I slip, you could die."

"That seems like my risk to take, doesn't it?"

"Okay," she exhaled. "Okay. Yeah. Okay. You're right. And I'm – I'm doing better. Every time we talk. Every time I open up. It helps. I can feel myself getting better."

 _liar_

Embla smiled. The pain in Serana's chest was so great she felt out of air for a second. "That's good to hear. And I'm here for you. Things aren't made to be faced alone, yeah? Planes of oblivion. Dwemer ruins. And… deep wounds. But we can do this. You can do this."

 _can you_

"Want me to hold you to sleep tonight?"

Serana turned her head and regarded her. She wasn't used to asking for things – she took what she needed, or she demanded things, or she went ahead and made them happen. Embla knew that. She'd asked to be held once, and Embla had volunteered the offer every night since.

 _I see it,_ she thought, _I see your effort. I want you to know I appreciate it. I wish I knew how –_

"No. Let me – can I hold you instead?"

Brief surprise crossed her expression, and then she nodded. "Of course."

They laid down together, bedrolls next to one another, and although the position was unfamiliar, she felt a bit of her anguish subside. A little bit. She threw her arm over Embla's waist –

 _hold on to it sweetheart_

"I love you."

 _hold on to it and maybe one day…_

"I love you too, Em."

* * *

There was no getting out of it. Serana needed to feed.

 _I don't want to._

The Voice in her head had become two, then four, then a dozen. They talked all at once and so loudly, Serana had trouble making out what any single one was trying to say. They'd been walking for what felt like forever, and for the last few hours, Embla had completely taken over the duty of guiding their way with magic.

 _worthless you're worthless you're a bad person_

It wasn't fair on her. On either of them. Serana was losing her gods damned mind, and she knew it.

 _a choice you have a choice do you have a choice_

"Yes," she muttered. "I don't want it."

Embla didn't turn – she'd been talking to herself for long enough that the other had learned to ignore it – but she felt a squeeze on her hand. She gripped it tight and didn't let go. The halls of Alftand bubbled with life, the specters of what she'd witnessed in her visit thousands of years in the past. Tall bearded elves in robes everywhere she looked, gesticulating as they talked, laughing, crying, yelling –

She blinked, and it was gone.

"Em," she managed. "I don't feel well. I think I need to stop –"

 _knows about you she knows about you_

Something touched her leg. She looked down to see a Dwemer boy run past, tracked him across the corridor, heard his footsteps and his giggles and the sounds of his angry parents telling him to slow down. Serana closed her eyes and counted to ten.

She heard voices lifted in prayer. Her stomach turned.

" – rana? Serana?" Embla's hand on her shoulder, shaking her. "Serana, okay, you need to tell me what's going on –"

Her ears rung. People seemed to materialize and dissipate at will around her, just as misplaced objects with blurred edges went back and forth places in a sickening juxtaposition of past and present. She let herself be led until they stopped and Embla let go of her hand, forcing her to reopen her eyes.

 _no choice there's no choice you'll have to –_

Embla picked the lock at record speeds, and when she pushed the door open, Serana saw for a vivid moment a group of Dwemer soldiers walk out from it, right through her body, chatting in an ancient variation of Ehlnofex she'd never bothered to learn. It took her every ounce of her strength not to throw up then and there.

"Come on," Embla grabbed her by the wrist, and she was acutely aware of the elf's pulse on the tip of her fingers. Every once in a while, her vision would flash a thermal reading and she would see Embla's heart pumping under her skin.

Embla pushed the heavy door shut behind them, and Serana took a seat on a stone bed. The stale air reeked with mold and decomposition. She rested her head on her hands and took short breaths until she felt dizzy.

 _have to have to have to have to_

"I – I need to –" She didn't want to finish, "No. No no no."

"You're worthless. You're a bad person," Embla placed a hand on her shoulder. Serana stared at it and for a split second she watched it blurr and move backwards then back to where it was in a loop. "- worthless. Stupid. Piece of shit –"

"What?" she closed her hands into fists, knuckles pressing against her eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I said, do you want me to calm you down with the Thu'um?" Embla's voice, the real one, cut through the sounds in her head.

 _not your friend you have no friends WORTHLESS_

"No use. I was – reckless. Stupid. Stupid. I was – " _feed feed feed feed feed –_ She hissed in frustration and punched the bed, hard enough that she heard a crack and tendrils of pain shot up her wrist. "Fuck. I'm sorry. It won't stop until I – I need blood. It's been too long. It'll only get worse. I'm seeing things."

The bed – she had punched the bed and there was a crack in the stone. Something bubbled from it, and her nose was assaulted by the metallic scent of blood just as viscous liquid seeped from the corners of the fissure. Serana touched it, felt it wet her fingertips, saw her skin twist and crawl and go gray-green, long claws sprouting from her nails, showing her –

 _the monster you really are_

Embla had pulled out a dagger, and suddenly the cold metal tip was pressed against her chest, not over her sternum but under her breast, sliding between her ribs with the precision of -

 _someone who knows where to cut_

\- slicing through skin and the sponge-like tissue of her lungs straight into her heart. She felt the muscle contract as the steel made its way through it, felt it pump faster against the surface of the knife, blood squirting out the wound and splattering across Embla's face, blood flowing through her lungs and drowning her, and she suddenly knew –

 _you will not die but your heart will never beat again_

 _-_ and Serana would pick death over that any day, she would –

"Serana!" A strong grip on her shoulder, shaking her. The knife was still on Embla's hand, its surface gleaning clean. A splatter of blood had remained on her cheek. She felt dizzy. "How big of a vessel do you need? Would the arm be fine?"

The implications of her words hit Serana like a mammoth. On her own arm, the thick green skin crawled up like a disease, from her wrist to her forearm. "I'm not drinking from you."

 _monster_

"Don't be stupid. You don't have a choice. Don't be stupid. You don't have a choice. Don't be stupid. You don't have a choice. Don't be STUPID STUPID STUPID –"

 _choice choice choice –_

The blood from the stone crack had gone from a leak to a bubbling fountain, and every time she moved her foot, she could hear it splash on the pool forming on the ground. This time, when her stomach turned, she couldn't stop herself from retching. "Go. Leave. Lock the door behind you."

"Out of question," Embla snapped. "I'm not leaving you behind. Serana, please."

Hands touching her cheek, soft. A pulse of heat vision. A stain of blood on her face. Serana held Embla's wrist and saw the scales growing on her skin had already reached up to her elbow. "I don't – I can't – it's not safe." She closed her eyes. "For you. I could take too much. For me. You're – "

 _dangerous cruel untrustworthy good too good for me_

" – Aedra. You're Aedra. Could make it worse –"

"I trust you completely." Hands touching her nape. She saw Embla press the knife to her own wrist and had a vivid flash of the blade twisting inside her chest, breaking her ribs.

"No. Not like that," she gave in. "Let me – let me bite. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry –"

 _monster_

"Hey, it's okay." Embla touched fingers to her cheek, turned her head gently. "It'll be okay. This isn't about him, all right? This isn't about Bal or, or domination, or whatever sick thing he wants you to do. This is a gift. From me, to you." Serana was pulled closer, felt her lips press against the crook of Embla's neck, felt the pulse under her skin –

 _a gift_

Serana let her fangs slide out and bit.

Embla's grunt of pain felt a thousand times worse than the dagger to her heart she'd hallucinated.

The blood that flowed to her mouth wasn't pleasant. It burned her lips and the insides of her cheeks, and then tore a path down her throat, through her chest and into her stomach, hurting every millimeter of the way, as if it rebelled against the profanity of what she was doing. It felt as she'd expected it would – like swallowing embers.

She pulled back after a single swig, because it hurt more than she could bear, but there was nothing she could do to stop what she had already taken. The heat traveled from her stomach to her veins, until she could feel the fire from the tip of her toes to the microscopic vessels that irrigated her eyes. Each heartbeat was a new shot of agony that made her tear up and collapse to the floor.

Serana couldn't find in her the strength to scream from the pain, not when it felt like her torso was being torn in half, not when the fire reached her brain and her vision exploded into colors and the chatter in her mind was drowned out by the roar on her ears. For a moment, she could see every single color, and hear every single noise, and smell every single scent she'd ever known, all at once, and her muscles tensed hard enough that her back arched and her nails drew blood from her palms.

And then, just as fast as it had begun, the pain dissipated, leaving her gasping for air, her skin sticky with cold sweat. Embla was holding her, whispering something undistinguishable to her ear.

The world sharpened around her. The voices were gone. Then there was the sound of laughter, and stone breaking, and she saw a footstep of something inhuman explode on the ground, their owner invisible but moving closer with heavy thuds.

She pushed Embla away. "He's coming."

"What are you –" Embla cut herself short at the horrid screech of claws against metal, and deep sulks formed on the walls directly opposite to them. Serana felt every muscle in her body tense once again. " – the fuck?"

"You hear it too?" Her heart drummed against her chest, aching, enough to make her eyes water again.

"Of course I – he has no _right,_ " she hissed, and Serana could taste the anger in her tone in a manner she'd never heard from her before. "Not here. Not in Nirn. The Covenant doesn't allow it. The Septims bled for this. _I_ bled for this. He has no right to –"

"Em, please," she pushed her again, harder this time, enough to make her roll away. "It doesn't matter. He's here – he's, he's always here after I feed, it's like a summoning ritual, and if you don't go you'll get hurt too."

"I'm not going anywhere," Embla moved back, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. The footprints were almost upon them, and Serana could already hear his breathing and smell his foul breath. "If Auri-el won't fulfill his role – if he won't uphold his promise – then I'll do it myself."

"You don't know – you have no idea –"

 _you're mine._

His voice in her head, clear as if he had whispered on her very ear. For all she knew, he had. And then he was there, claws and horns and scales and so many teeth she couldn't count.

Serana lost herself. There was no helping it, no way she wouldn't be triggered by his presence. She covered her ears and closed her eyes and waited, but she couldn't prevent herself from smelling the rancid scent of ages-old blood and piss and fear. She couldn't stop herself from feeling the infernal heat licking on her skin. Her eyelids were not enough to blind her to the flashes of light.

And Embla's shouts were far too loud for her hands to shut out.

She didn't see what happened. When she came to herself – when she could finally tell where the edges of objects were, when she could finally remember her own name – she found her back leaning against a wall and her fingers interlaced with Embla's. There were spatters of blood on her hand and face, and when Serana rubbed them off with her thumb, they felt like acid against her skin.

She couldn't speak. She didn't know how to move air in and out of her lungs, couldn't remember how to move her lips yet. Couldn't remember how to cry. She squeezed Embla's hand.

"I'm okay," she said, despite how Serana could see gashes on her shoulder and tears on her armor, and so her first coherent thought was _I can't keep giving her scars._ "I'm – nothing – nothing bad happened. Well. You know what I mean. It wasn't – there's limits to how much he can manifest. Nothing much stronger than a dremora can cross. I – I handled it. With fire."

Embla smiled at her, and Serana felt her heart break into a thousand pieces even as it beat. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. I handled it." There was blood seeping from a cut on her cheek. She wiped it with the back of her hand, and Serana saw it tremble ever so lightly. "Haven't healed yet. Nothing serious, just a few scrapes. But I'm tired. Think I'll let them fix themselves."

"You said you were scared of fire," she mumbled, because it was the first thing that came to mind.

Embla tilted her head. Every few seconds, her round pupils seemed to contract into almost-slits, as if whatever she was sharing her body with was still half-present. "Yeah. Well. I suppose there are scarier things out there."

 _you can't protect her,_ the Voice which could or could not be her own whispered. _never forget that._

"I'm sorry," she repeated. It was all she could say.

"Don't be a fool," Embla replied, and leaned in and pressed their lips together in a way that was soft and gentle and made Serana feel whole and human again.

 _you can't protect her,_ the Voice repeated, a warning, an omen.

She closed her eyes and kissed her back.


	13. Chapter 13

Embla had a broken rib, and it was hurting like a bitch.

As a physician and a master of restoration, it was an unusual situation to find herself in. She'd been in the army for long enough to get in a fair share of scrapes and collect a good amount of wounds, but she would, more often than not, immediately get them fixed and over with.

But this situation was different. She'd healed four broken ribs immediately after she was done banishing Molag Bal, together with a cut deep and enough that she could see her bone through the slashed muscle. And then, on the morning after, she'd healed all the scratches that could get infected and another pair of bones. She didn't have the energy to push any further, not without collapsing, and she'd dropped enough weight at that point that she didn't even have to breathe in too deep to see her rib cage.

Which brought her back to the matter at hand: her rib. It was healing by itself in unusually fast pace, except it was doing so at the wrong position, and Embla knew if she wanted it back in place, she would have to break it again.

 _Stupid thing_ , she poked, gritting her teeth at the jolt of pain it caused. The alternative, of course, was just embracing the whole thing and casting a healing spell to make the bone set faster. It wasn't poking at any of her organs, and it wasn't too visible unless she dropped more weight. No functional loss or aesthetic deformity.

It was a crooked rib. She could live with it, probably.

But she was keeping it a secret from Serana – not wanting her to know the true extent of the damage she took – and that, more than the broken bone itself, was weighting her down. Embla had told her fair share of lies, but there was something maddening about this omission in particular.

It felt dishonest, but she wasn't sure how to bring it up, particularly when there was something else bothering her simultaneously – the fact that she _shouldn't_ have been able to survive the beating she took. And while she was definitely dealing the consequences of it – she did feel like crap – she was also profoundly disturbed by the idea.

Her being alive after a fight that should have killed her, just like her being alive after having her head chopped off, didn't feel like a blessing. It felt like the denial of a fundamental right. She didn't _want_ to die, but knowing that maybe it wasn't entirely in her hands bothered her.

"This is it," Serana said, snapping her out of her thoughts and stopping in front of a staircase that lead to plunging darkness. Embla traced the words carved in stone with her fingertips. Serana stopped by her side. "Fal'Zhardum Din," she read out loud.

"Blackest Kingdom Reaches," she translated from Dwemeris, which was close enough for her to understand like most Ehlnofex derived languages. Embla sighed. "I'm getting really sick of this whole staircase into darkness routine."

"What was that you offered me the other day?" Serana queried, leading the way down. "Running away to a sunny beach? Wouldn't be good for my skin, but I'm starting to see the appeal."

"How much longer do you think it'll take us, once we're down there? I can't stand another Chaurus omelet."

"There's no way of knowing. Once we get the scroll it shouldn't be an issue to exit through one of the Great Lifts. We'll need an attunement sphere to get it moving though."

"Any idea how to get one?" Embla asked, not sure whether she wanted to know the answer. Her rib ached. She was definitely forcing the healing forward once they got a break. "Please don't say from a dwemer automaton."

"From a dwemer automaton, unfortunately." Serana flicked her wrist and brought a glowing magelight to life, illuminating their way. Embla's night vision did not compare to a vampire's, and she appreciated the gesture. "There's a reason you don't see those roaming around. An attunement sphere is just a coated Dynamo Core."

"Dynamo core?"

"It's…not all automatons have them, but you could call it the brain of the ones which do. Centurions, for instance. Other larger, more complex ones as well. The Dwemer used to call them Great Automatons."

"Of course the centurions," she complained. "Why do you know so much about those? I didn't peg you for a mechanic. Divines, you and Sorine would have a field day down this sinkhole." She rubbed her nose with her thumb. "Did you actually study in the library while I slept?"

"Me? Doing research before jumping into deathly places? Of course not. But Dwemer soul manipulation is an essential area of conjuration, and understanding it means you also understand the automatons. That's why I visited Alftand. It was part of my studies."

The staircase spiraled down so deep that despite the light, she couldn't see the end. Soon enough, she couldn't see the entrance either. Their footsteps echoed. Embla had the uncomfortable sensation of feeling like the walls were closing around them. "I'm not eager on facing a centurion, but I suppose we could make a plan."

Serana nodded. Embla kept walking. The walls were definitely getting tighter, so much that her shoulders were nearly touching them and she had to turn slightly sideways. Serana had to bend her head down.

"I have an unrelated question," she said, because talking helped with the growing claustrophobia. "You bit me. Won't that turn me?"

"No." Serana crouched to pass through a section of the staircase where the roof was particularly low. "Turning is… deliberate. I'd need to inject way more venom than I do for simple paralysis, and I didn't inject you at all. There's always a chance of turning by bite, of course, but it doesn't really matter. You can't be turned."

"I can't? Why not?"

"Metaphysically speaking that's a nonsensical question. It's like asking whether you can turn a dremora into a human. Mortals either descend from or were created by Aedra, depending on who you ask, so their souls are aligned with Aetherius by default. But they can be swayed. Yours can't. It's as immutable as it is chaotic."

She hesitated. There was something deeply troubling on that statement. "You're some kind of Aedra specialist, aren't you?"

"As an ageless being, studying the immortal is the most fascinating thing I could bring myself to do," she shrugged. "But the study of the Aedra isn't the most logical or direct of subjects. Though I did dedicate myself to understanding the event of your… re-birth, so to say. While you recovered from your wounds, back at the Throat of the World. I suppose you have a question?"

"What am I, really?" She stared at her own palms, barely visible under the magelight. Her fingertips tingled.

"Do you really want to know? There's a reason I never told you." Serana let her gaze get lost in the darkness below. "I don't know if you can live with it."

"I'm – I think I need to. I need to try. I need to understand what I've become. Am I Aedra? Is that it? Does having Auri-el's soul make me an aspect of him, a fragment of a divine?"

"If only it were so simple. Things are hardly straightforward with the Aedra. What you received sometimes isn't as important as how you received it. You… should probably sit down for this." Serana paused and took a seat on the brass step. Embla followed her. "For you to understand what you are, you need to understand how the Aedra act. Aedra are being of stasis, and their actions are the chorus of the symphony that is Nirn, repeating over and over. That's how they'll always work – through the Enantiomorph."

"The Enantiomorph?" she rubbed her palm on her face, feeling exhaustion creep into her muscles. The fundamentals of Aedrology were part of the study of magic, but much like other highly theoretical basic sciences, they had little application on day-to-day practice and were prone to being forgotten. "That's the dichotomy, right? Light and dark, Auri-el and Lorkhan, Aedra and Daedra."

"That's a simplistic way of looking at it." For a second, she could almost see the gears turning on Serana's head. "The Enantiomorph is the repeating pattern that mimics creation. There are roles to be played – probably more than we can tell, but the main actors are the King who holds the Tower, the Rebel who wants to take it, and the Observer who ultimately determines king from rebel and is blinded, maimed or killed as a result."

Embla stood still to think about it. "So Torygg is the king who holds the Snow Tower," she reasoned. "And Ulfric is the rebel who wants to take it. And the Observer was…"

"There was none," Serana turned to look at her. "And that's why the conflict went on unsolved. The Enantiomorph was incomplete. Without the Observer, there is no one to tell who's Rebel and who's King. The importance to this lies in that interplay. Rebels are meant to become kings and vice-versa, interchangeably. But Ulfric remained the rebel."

"Wasn't it foretold? That the conflict would go on?" The staircase was warm to the touch, thin steam puffs coming from between the steps. "You told me the civil war would be the final event to trigger the coming of the Last Dragonborn."

"The civil war was meant to be a second Enantiomorph," she explained. "Ulfric would go from king of Skyrim back to rebel against the empire, and then king again if he won. But he never reached the first role of king, and that's where everything went off tracks."

"How does that lead to me becoming the dragonborn?"

Serana clicked her tongue and smiled. Embla was struck by the perception that she was having the time of her life, talking about something she was passionate about, and so she let her keep going even though her comprehension of metaphysics was poor.

"Receiving the dragon soul is an act of apotheosis – of ascension. But a god can only mantle a mortal to their liking. Akatosh is king, so he needs a metaphysical king to mantle – that's the logic behind the dragonborn emperors and the Amulet of Kings. By becoming emperors, they were ready to receive the mantle. Ulfric wasn't."

"This seems to be overlooking the fact that I'm not the king of anything," Embla pointed out.

"You are the prisoner," Serana tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It was obvious, once I started looking at the events that led to your mantling. You left your past behind, so you were bound to nothing but the Thalmor. Betraying them was the final act – what broke the last link to who you were, and what led to your literal imprisonment."

"What's the role of the prisoner?"

"To have no past, so they may walk any path. To have no face, so they may be anyone. To break free of their chains, so they may do whatever they want. Ultimately, if so they desire, to have their identity lost to history, but their acts remembered forever."

"I'm… not sure how I feel about that," She rubbed her temples to try and dissolve a tension headache. "It doesn't make a lot of sense – my predestined role was to just do whatever I want and then be forgotten?"

"I told you Aedric studies don't necessarily make sense." Serana stretched her legs. "What you need to know is this: the prisoner may or may not interfere on the Enantiomorph. They may take the role of king, observer or rebel. Or they may spend the rest of their lives planting cabbages. They're a wildcard. You entered Helgen a prisoner and left Helgen dead to the world and free to become anything you wanted."

"That still doesn't explain my taking the king mantle."

"You didn't. It's not that hard to understand, when you think about it. The Enantiomorph. Duality. The dragon soul." Serana tapped her foot. "I can't tell you, though. Not the last bit – what you are. You need to reach the conclusion yourself. It's… dangerous to say it. Even for me."

"You're kidding me." Serana shook her head. Embla hissed in frustration. "Really? Can't you at least give me a hint?"

"Who's the dragonborn god?"

"…Talos?" She frowned. "Debatably? The Dominion doesn't accept that, because Talos took the place of – oh. _Oh._ " She blinked. "Talos was the prisoner, wasn't he? We don't know who he was, exactly, only what he did. His name, where he was born, who he was before taking Tamriel by storm, those are all uncertain. Accounts differ. He might even have been more than one person. Fuck."

Serana grinned. "You're close. Keep going."

"And then men claim he ascended and became the ninth divine, because he took the place of the missing god – imperial Shezarr. Our Lorkhan. But to the Altmer, the missing god was never in the pantheon on the first place, since he was a traitor. A trickster."

"Which is the reason of the man-mer schism. Men think creating the world was a good thing. Mer think it was something which deprived them of their divinity."

"A stupid thing to fight over when we're all already here," Embla muttered. "I took the dragon soul which wasn't meant for me, in what was essentially… a trick of fate." She took a deep breath, contemplated her next words and exhaled. "I walked the steps of the Prisoner, and was mantled by him. I'm not an aspect of Auri-el. I'm an aspect of Lorkhan. Shit. That's why you can't say it. I'm – I'm Shezarrine. That – that changes everything."

"In a crooked way, it _solves_ everything," Serana corrected. "Bosmer and Bretons were both born out of the mixing of mer and men, respectively leaning towards one and the other. You receiving the soul of the king-god by the hands of the man-god is heavily symbolic."

"It was a fuck-up," Embla whispered, mind racing. "A trick of fate. I'm just a piece in an endless conflict. The last piece – the Last Dragonborn."

"But no one knows that. No one but me knows you _and_ metaphysics enough to arrive at that conclusion." She shrugged. "You can spin it the exact opposite way. You could represent the proof that men and mer are meant to cooperate – the evidence that the conflict between Akatosh and Shor is finally settled. Or you could plant some damn cabbages. You're unbound after all."

"I kept it a secret because I thought the Thalmor would want to crown me," Embla ran a hand through her hair. "But if that's what I am, they might want to _kill_ me."

"Hm. I'm still going to lean towards crowning," Serana dusted herself and stood. "That Akatosh wants a mer to rule is the easiest conclusion, and besides, the… other one isn't an information easy to spread. It is known that even speculating on the Sh – on what you are – can cause the death of those who speak of it."

"The World-Eater and I," Embla babbled, the implications taking her by storm. "We're just a – a rematch. I'm – I'm –"

"The Enantiomorph. Elegant in what it is. A replication of creation." Serana extended her a hand. Embla let the other pull her to her feet. "My advice? Don't think too much about it. You are what you are – Shor's goal was always freedom of choice. Losing your individuality over who you're supposed to be defeats the point. Your role in the universe is literally to be what you want. Be free. Everything else will have to conform to that."

 _I'm an aspect of the Trickster,_ Embla realized, but had no words to express the magnitude of that thought. _A champion of Lorkhan. Perhaps Lorkhan themself. Who knows._

Perhaps it was the hot and humid air, perhaps it was the ambivalence of the Bosmer culture towards Lorkhan – a revered trickster, but an unholy one nonetheless – but she found herself frozen in place, watching as Serana resumed walking, her stomach twisting and turning inside her abdomen.

 _I don't know if you can live with it_ , Serana had told her, and even as her feet began moving and guiding her to the depths of the city below them, Embla was not sure whether she could either.

* * *

"I didn't expect it to be so… beautiful," Serana said, looking up, reverence in her voice. "The mushrooms almost seem like stars."

Embla took a moment to stare at the roof and admire the glowing blue lights, then kicked off her improvised leather sandals, threw her shirt to a corner and splashed into the river. The water was cold enough that it sent a shiver up her spine. It was a much-needed refreshment from the underground heat. Something shimmered under the surface. "Toss me the bow!"

She grabbed it midair, adjusted her aim to account for the water refraction and let an arrow loose. A moment later, the water was tinged red and a fish emerged, impaled, still twitching its tail. Embla grabbed the arrow, stepped out of the river and stabbed it on the ground, then twisted the excess water off her hair. "Finally. A different brand of dinner."

Serana poked the fire with a long metal rod. They'd found plenty of clutter to burn – linen, rags, bedclothes – but they had avoided making a fire so far in order to not call attention of Blackreach's inhabitants, the Falmer.

"You sure this is okay?" Embla muttered, sitting next to her and grabbing a knife to gut the fish.

"If anything, it should make us harder to detect, masking sound and scent. The Falmer use fires too. This shouldn't be unusual." She shrugged.

Embla stared off into the distance, where she could spot one of the many camps of Falmer they had crossed. Although blind, they were remarkably difficult to sneak past, and more than once they almost got caught because of their smells or their footsteps.

It took them a few attempts of running, casting spells of muffle and hiding, but they eventually figured they could sound exactly like a Chaurus by clacking the shells and chitin they'd picked up as they walked. If they didn't speak and masked their scents with mud, they could use that to go completely unnoticed and stay out of trouble.

"There's something about them," Embla watched the Falmer scurry around their fire. "It's not just the blindness. There's something…wrong. Something happened to those people – more than just a toxin."

"I might have an idea about what's behind that." Serana followed her gaze to the camp. "There's a reason they let a vampire study in Alftand. The Dwemer were… obsessed with immortality, so much that anyone who obtained it was deemed virtuous, regardless of the means. The Falmer were the perfect subjects for their experiments. Experiments that even I found nauseating."

She didn't want to know what those entailed, and so she didn't ask. "I take it the results explain why they seem so… beastly?"

"Their souls were shrunken," Serana explained. "I… I don't know how, exactly. But I know that left them what they are now – angry. Hollow. They're not… irrational, but they might be unfeeling. There is an intimate relationship between mind, heart and soul. If the soul is too small, you have to let go of one or the other."

Embla sliced the fish's belly open and removed the entrails, then chopped off the head with a single blow. She placed the edible parts on a stick close to the fire and threw the remaining into the river. "Did you see the shrines?"

"Hard to miss them."

The shrines, if that was what those were, consisted of impaled skeletons with the limbs cut out and the bones of their hands placed as a crown over their heads. They weren't exactly places of worship in the sense that neither her nor Serana had ever seen any of the Falmer use them for prayer or even ritual sacrifice. They were just there – empty eye sockets watching nothingness.

"We had the same gods," Embla observed the flames flicker and dance. Every now and then, the wood would pop and collapse on itself, releasing sparks. "Elven gods, I mean. The same basic pantheon. But I don't recognize that… effigy. Nor do I think it is daedric. It's something else. Something darker."

"Sithis, maybe." Serana took off her gloves. Embla was vaguely aware of being told by Serana that she didn't feel temperature relative to the environment, but knowing that and watching the other wear half a dozen coats on the current heat were two different things entirely.

"Might be. They're not all Falmer bones, either. Some of those are human. I don't know." The roasted fish had begun to smell, and she felt her stomach rumble. "Every event surrounding the disappearance of the Dwemer has been obscure."

"They were not good people," Serana's eyes drifted to the fire. "Brilliant, yes, but eerily lacking in morals. As if all that intelligence had come at the cost of empathy. They didn't have a soul, at the end. Individually, I mean."

"They… what?"

"They all gave up their souls to bind them to the Numidium. It turned them immortal, but once they had that, they wanted… more. More than living forever. They wanted to ascend. Climb the Tower back to Aetherius, where they thought they belonged. We couldn't figure out why they disappeared, though – not before I went under at least. Did anyone ever crack that mystery?"

"Yeah." Embla's eyes drifted involuntarily to the bright yellow lantern in the distance. When they first arrived, they were too far to tell what exactly it was, except it hovered amid the speckled blue roof like a sun. "I know people have an answer for their disappearance, but I don't know what that answer is. We got a letter from the future and that apparently cleared things up. Maybe. I've never read the letter, but those who have say it's nigh-on incomprehensible."

"I'd like to take a look at that, if I have the chance."

 _She's just a curious bookworm,_ Embla realized and found herself abruptly overcome by emotion. _Divines, deep down we're both just scared little girls._ "There are copies of it everywhere. We can look for one once we're done with… all this."

Serana didn't make eye contact. "Yeah. The Scroll shouldn't be much further – the clairvoyance tracks are getting brighter."

Embla grunted in response, her eyes involuntarily returning to the sun of Blackreach. It was where their tracking was leading them – the probable site of the scroll – but looking at it filled her with a distinct sense of unease.

The closer they got to it, the more she wanted to turn around. "I don't like that thing." She pointed to it with her chin. "It creeps me out."

"It's where the scroll is," Serana replied. "So you probably have good reason to be wary. Who knows what sort of traps are protecting it. If we're lucky, the Falmer will have triggered most of them already."

"When were we ever lucky," Embla grumbled, watching their dinner cook. The heat of the fire helped the bare skin of her stomach dry, but the air still felt unpleasantly humid and stale. "And then what, what do we do with the scrolls? There's a… moth ritual. I don't know the details. Not my field of study."

"Luckily for you, Ancestor Glades aren't deathly or dangerous, which means I did my research while you slept in the library." She winked, and Embla couldn't hold a smile and a scoff. "There's one in Falkreath. Not too far from –" she hesitated. "Helgen."

A chill crawled up Embla's spine. "Going full circle, huh. We should stop by, if we're going to be around."

"Helgen? Where you lost your head?" Serana tilted her head. "That's… an interesting impulse."

Embla shrugged, resisting the urge to touch her neck. "I could pretend I'm doing in for information on the dragons. Research. But in reality, I don't know. There might be some emotional strength gained from it. Some epiphany. Or maybe I'll just have a breakdown. You don't have to come, if you don't want."

"Mmh. I'll go, if that's where you're going. I'd follow you to Oblivion and back," Serana replied absently, then her eyes widened and she cleared her throat. "I mean." She broke eye contact. "If you want me to. You – you did just that. Follow me to Oblivion. It's the least I could do."

"I didn't expect you to love me back," She blurted, feeling heat on her cheeks. "I didn't expect to love you, either. I suppose I let my guard down. I didn't think – you scared me, when we met. But…"

"There are scarier things out there?"

Embla smiled. "Yeah. And you're something special." She picked the fish from the fire and blew on it. It smelled delicious. She stood and took a seat next to Serana so they could share. Her cheeks were still warm and when they bumped shoulders, her heart did a little flip. She resumed blowing cool air on the fish to cool it.

"You have a crooked rib," Serana pointed out, poking it. It had stopped hurting. She had no intentions whatsoever of setting it in place. "How did this happen?"

"Oi! Ticklish!" she protested, fighting back a giggle. "Eh. Who knows. I get into too many fights for someone my size." She took a bite of the fish and handed it over.

"I'm not. Something special." Serana stared at the food without eating it. "Just another kid crushed by the world and broken by daedra. There are hundreds like me in every city. I just got some fancy powers to go with it."

Embla swallowed her food and snatched it from Serana's hands to take another bite. "Nonsense," she said, mouth still full, and handed it back before swallowing again. "He didn't break you. If you don't eat, I'll eat this whole thing by myself."

Serana frowned, but didn't reply, instead taking a bite.

"He didn't break you," Embla repeated, wiping the corner of her mouth. "It's been what – a thousand years? Two?"

"More than three."

"Yeah. And you're still fighting." She bumped their shoulders together. "Nothing about you is broken. Misplaced, maybe. Misinterpreted, often. But broken? I don't think so."

Serana turned away. "I'm tired."

Embla covered Serana's hand with her palm. "It's almost over."

"It's never over." She finished the fish and threw the stick into the bonfire, then tapped her finger to her forehead. "Problem is in here."

"You ever think about getting rid of it? Vampirism, I mean?" She watched the fire, the red and yellow hues hypnotizing. "We have some strong studies on cures, back in Alinor. There are fairly reliable ways… equivalent exchanges."

"And what would that achieve?" She turned, and Embla could see the deep rings under her eyes. "Molag Bal will _never_ let me go. I would still be mad. I would still be tormented. Except I'd also be powerless to boot."

"Are you kidding me? Take away the vampire in you and I'd still have a brutally powerful mage and shrewd politician and – and an amazing, strong-willed woman." Embla bit her bottom lip, thoughtful, and exhaled. "I – I don't mean to tell you what to do. You paid a high price for it. It just feels to me like it does more harm than good, that's all."

For the longest while, Serana didn't have an answer – for so long Embla accepted she wouldn't reply at all. And then she leaned her head on Embla's shoulder and exhaled. "I don't know. After all this is done… I'll think about it."

"Whatever you choose, I'll be there for you." Embla replied, and closed her eyes, and let the sounds of crackling flames distract her from all the things she didn't want to think about.

* * *

The sun in Blackreach, she knew, was more than just a lantern.

Serana shifted from one foot to the other, feeling antsy. The clairvoyance spell was clear – the Elder Scroll was just through the massive metal door that separated the Tower of Mzark from Blackreach's sprawling length. Problem at hand: the door was locked. Fortunately, Serana knew exactly how to get it open. Unfortunately, it involved making quite a lot of noise.

She ran her fingers over the circular gap where a Dynamo Core should be inserted. "They were about the size of a closed fist," she explained. "Every Dwemer had one – they carried them on their pockets. You attached them to doors to open them, but they had other uses. You could… give your Dynamo Core to a salesman, for instance, and it would register payment for goods so that gold was moved straight from your bank vault to theirs. I always found that fascinating."

"They were so ahead of our time," Embla looked up at the door and Serana could see the admiration in her gaze.

 _the soulless elves of the deep,_ the Voice whispered, and she shivered. "I don't know. Their culture was cold. Cruel. And far too nihilistic. I'd – I'd take an affectionate wildling elf of the forest over the nothing-in-this-material-world-matters philosophy anytime."

"Flatterer."

Serana felt the warmth of Embla's smile seep into her bones and exhaled. "We need a dynamo core. We'll have to fight a Great Automaton, I regret to inform."

 _fight fight fight fight_

She had been dreading a fight, because she knew how quick things could get out of hand. But they had no choice. She took deep breaths.

"We'll have a hard time finding one of those. The Falmer have dismantled most of them by now, though they can't seem to make sense of the cores, if they haven't looted any buildings yet."

"Cores don't respond to Falmer," she looked up at the source of glowing orange light. "The Dwemer knew better than to grant them easy access. Doesn't matter. There's one Great Automaton we can fight, I suppose –"

 _bell the bell the bell the bell the bell –_

" – bell," Serana muttered, rubbing her eyes, then cleared her throat. "The lantern is a bell. Everything about the Dwemer was… fancy. Including how they guarded things. This is the highest level of security. The Dwemer equivalent of a thousand guards."

"A bell?" Embla was staring directly above, and the light made her skin almost glow. Serana tore her eyes from the shape of her neck and sighed.

"It's an alarm system of sorts. It'll summon a Great Automaton when rung. Once it's dead, I can disarm the core and use it to unlock the door."

"Why do you know all those things?" Embla muttered, sounding almost indignant. "And how do we ring the bell?"

"I studied here, and I'm not sure whether you've noticed, but I'm a bit of a troublemaker." She smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. "As for how to ring it, I'm not sure. It has a mechanism to do it – a little hammer of sorts – but I can see it's missing. Probably broken."

 _broken things_

"I could ring it with a Shout, I think," Embla contemplated the sphere. "But that would bring out every Falmer in the radius of a thousand miles."

"That's fine. Might be to our benefit, really. The Falmer and the Automaton are mutually hostile. Otherwise, I'll handle them."

 _She'll definitely protest about –_

"I – that doesn't sound right." Serana bit back a snort. "They're people. We walk into their homes, kill their… pets, loot their houses and now we're just going to outright murder them?"

"I know you don't approve of it, but I think this might be a mercy."

"Who are we to even judge that?" Embla challenged. "They're not asking to be killed. I haven't seen them suiciding. And it's true that they're… vicious. But it doesn't sit well with me. It's not – not who I am. I help people. Even when it's easier to judge them beyond saving. It – It was Molag Bal." Embla turned to face her. "The crooked rib, I mean."

Serana felt something inside her soul crack. "Em –"

"No. Listen. There isn't a lot I wouldn't do for you. If you tell me this is the way, then I'll do it. You know that." She paused. "But I need to be sure there's no way around it. I need your word on it. Because at the end of the day, it'll be another thing on the growing pile of things that make it hard to live with myself."

 _hurting her_

"We can close the gates of the courtyard so they won't be able to run in when they hear the bell. They might still attack us from the towers above, and there's nothing we can do about the ones already here, but it will keep the loss of life to a minimum."

"Right. Yes." She exhaled. "Thank you. I know it's… I know I'm being difficult. But it's important to me. Now more than ever."

"You're being you," Serana removed her backpack and placed it next to the doors they needed to open. "There should be a lever to control the gates inside. We just have to look for it."

"Yes. Also, we need a plan. What is it that we are expecting to fight? A Centurion?"

"Most likely, yes, the Centurions were the most common of the Great Automatons." Serana started moving, looking for the mechanism that would close the gates. "They're slightly less resistant to shock magic than they are to everything else – are you any good at that?"

"I can pull most shock spells off, yes."

"Good. I have an aptitude for frost, but I can do it too." She spotted the lever she had been looking for. "Though I think it might be wiser if you manned one of those ballistae on the wall. They rearm themselves automatically and pack quite the punch, and you're good at aiming."

"How do I operate them?"

Serana pulled the lever. A second later, there was a creak and the groan of metal moving. She wedged a dagger between the metal surface to make sure the Falmer wouldn't be able to push it back, then made her way to the wall and helped Embla up. "There should be a switch on the bottom that will let you manually guide them."

"I see it." She tested it, pushing it so it made a full circle, then gave Serana a thumbs up. "Good to go. Won't you come to high ground?"

"Shock magic is stronger at close range. Don't worry about me, I'm –"

 _going to throw yourself against whatever comes and hope today is the day_

"– fast. I'm fast. Ring the bell, would you?"

Embla stared at it in silence for a full minute, but Serana let her take her time. Then she licked her lips, pulled in a deep breath and shouted.

 _"Fus… ro-dah!"_

Several things happened at once. Serana wasn't expecting the raw power that Embla's voice would pack, and so she couldn't have warned her, but the moment the wave of energy hit the lantern, it was ripped off the metal pole that supported it and sent flying, until it crashed against one of the walls. She shielded her eyes from the rubble that flew from the impact, coughing at the dust it lifted.

As it hit the ground, the bell made a sound – a chime that was loud and vibrated in a manner that made her teeth chatter – and then a jarring screech of grinding metal erupted from above, followed by the hiss of steam.

She looked up –

 _That's a dragon,_ she thought incoherently, and then her brain caught up to her and she realized while it was shaped like one, the thing descending upon her was the Great Automaton she'd been looking for.

Serana had not planned for a mechanical dragon, and she had no idea how to deal with it.

 _run_

She jumped out of the way a split second before the spot she was standing was engulfed by flames, rolling on her shoulder and hopping back to her feet to break into a run. She turned back to look at it – the brass beast was sustained in the air by the hot air that came out of slits between each metal plate, emitting a high-pitched sound like a kettle. It beat its leathery wings once, then again, turning in the air.

 _Clang._

A bolt lodged itself on the dragon's side, to no effect. Serana turned to the side to see Embla maneuvering the ballistae with one hand, the other trying to push back the flow of blood from a cut on her forehead. The dragon turned its attention to Embla, its neck groaning with the movement.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath, charging up a spell of thunderbolt. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

She saw gears turn and pumps speed up, and took the chance to release the energy she had been charging up. It hit the dragon straight on the spine, where she thought it would do the most damage to its circuits, but much to her distress, it didn't react to it.

 _you need to be the monster_

It glided in the air towards Embla, and Serana's heart sunk as it opened its metallic jaw to release a stream of fire –

 _"Wuld!"_

Embla whooshed forward not one second too soon, and Serana reacted instinctively, dashing to intercept her before she hit the ground. She was only partly successful, with Embla hitting her chest and knocking the breath out of her with an _oompf._

 _"Slek,"_ she cursed, pupils still slit, helping Serana to her feet. "What in Oblivion do we – fuck!" She took a step forward, pushing Serana back, and yelled out incomprehensible words. Less than a second later, fire collided against Embla's magical ward, making Serana shield her eyes with her arm and break into coughing.

From where the lantern had demolished the wall, Falmer began to emerge and join those which ran from the courtyard to investigate the noise. It didn't go unnoticed by the dragon, who seemed to decide they were a higher priority as soon as they started raining arrows upon it. The accuracy of their shots surprised Serana given that they were blind.

The arrows went _tink_ against the metal carcass and fell to the ground without leaving a dent. Serana pulled Embla by the arm to get them out of the way of the next volley, and the two ducked behind a block of fallen stone, panting. In the distance, the dragon roared.

 _be the monster be the monster_

"It's the heat keeping it afloat," She explained, taking a peek over the rock. There were shrilled screams and the smell of burnt flesh. "If we can cool the air below its wings, we can bring it down. Can you do ice?"

"Yes. I'll run left, you run right. Let's crash the damn thing."

Serana mentally counted to three, then made a run for where the dragon hovered, spewing fire upon the Falmer. As she ran, she used her fingers to make signs that would translate into spells, the Voice reciting the enchantments for a Blizzard. She saw Embla clap her hands together then pull them apart, a massive ice spike materializing between her palms as she did.

She skidded to a halt under the dragon, which re-attuned itself to their presence. The waves of heat that came from it made her skin ache. When Embla released the ice spike, it frizzled into vapor before it could even reach the automaton's breastplate. Serana opened her fist and made a circular motion, releasing the energy she had been building up.

She felt the magicka course through her body like lightning, air spinning around her and forming snowflakes. Standing directly under the dragon, she kept spinning her wrist, faster and faster, turning the snowstorm into a small tornado that siphoned the heat above and fizzled at the edges. The dragon opened its mouth and let out a downwards stream of fire. Serana grit her teeth and pushed the spell harder, swallowing the flames.

 _be the scary thing be the beastly thing that will make them regret ever crossing you_

"No," she muttered under her breath. "No, no, no."

The dragon screeched, beating its wings faster. Its scales pushed themselves apart and released a new wave of steam. Embla took the opportunity to fire several ice spikes in quick succession. The first few dissipated before they could reach the dragon, but she kept aiming them at the exact same spot, her brow furrowed in concentration, until one of them finally crashed against the hull, then another and another.

On the fifth hit, an ice spike lodged itself between a pair of scales. Embla changed her stance then, turned sideways to the automaton, touched her index and middle finger to her opposite palm and dragged them over her arm and chest, sparks gathering around as she moved. She jerked her arm and pointed at the dragon, a thunderbolt exploding out of her fingers and hitting the already melting protrusion of ice.

The automaton roared. Serana crouched and slammed her palms on the ground, bringing forth a wall of ice spikes, then backpedaled. The dragon crashed down with a thundering sound, the hard leather on its wings perforated by her trap. Serana's hands were shaking, her breathing fast. She turned to the side, where more Falmer were approaching from, and made a sweeping motion with her hand, covering the gap in the wall with ice to block their path.

The dragon whipped its neck, shattering the thorns that held it in place, and roared once again.

 _We have it down_ , she thought, dodging a wave of fire. _Now what?_

"Now what?!" Embla yelled at her, echoing her thoughts. "We keep jolting it?"

"I don't know!"

 _be the scary thing be the horrible thing so you have nothing to fear_ – she felt her fangs begin to slide out and forced them back – _take it take it take it_

Serana leaned forwards and rested her hands on her knees, panting. The dragon, now crawling forward, dragged its broken wings on the ground, its bright gemstone eyes alternating between her and Embla. She took a deep breath, tensed and charged up a spell of shock, then unleashed it on the automaton. She ran to one side, Embla to the other, and they alternated their thunderbolts.

The strategy lasted for maybe a minute before the dragon caught up to them and decided to just pick a target. It launched itself towards Embla, arching its neck, fire and smoke rising from the gaps in the armor. It opened its jaws –

 _"Yol… toor shul!"_

There was something to be said about fighting fire with fire, and the automaton, though made to withstand outrageous amounts of heat, definitely wasn't built to handle true dragonfire, hot enough that it could burn souls. She had to look away from the bright blue flames, but the metal on the wing the dragon used as a shield grew red and then bubbled, drops of molten brass sizzling and bursting into flame when they touched the ground. The red gems it had for eyes exploded from the heat.

It could have been enough, had Embla been able to sustain it for longer. But she ran out of breath, gasping, and then the furious, now-blinded machine lashed out, swinging wings, neck and tail wildly. Embla backed away out of reach. Serana followed its movements with her eyes, thinking, calculating. Embla, bless her patience, immediately resumed throwing ice spikes and thunderbolts, but the voices in Serana's head were turning into a choir and she was done chipping at the damn thing.

 _release yourself be the thing be the scary thing_

She circled around it. The very ground shook when its heavy metal tail slapped the earth, making her teeth chatter. She counted to ten, then made a run for it, dashing towards the dragon, looking for any vulnerable spot she could deliver a lethal thunderbolt to. She leaped, hoping to reach its spine, but the automaton did an unpredictable turn as if sensing her approach and lashed out with its tail.

It was too fast for her to react to it – the scalding metal caught her midair, slamming hard against her torso and sending her flying. She crashed against a wall, hard enough that it could have broken every bone in her body, had she not been what she was. Her shoulder took the brunt of the damage, and she felt her arm pop right out of its socket.

The jolts of pain were enough to make her whimper.

Her fangs slid out of her gums. When she opened her eyes, a pulse of heat vision was layered over her normal sight, the dragon's hide as bright as the sun.

 _be it_

Serana stood. She grabbed her shoulder and yanked it back in place. She was losing it, had been losing it since the beginning, but something inside her snapped then, and she gave into it – felt the magicka course through her, and let it turn into something darker. Her mouth tasted bitter from her own blood. She spat.

She flicked her wrist. From where they stood in the ground, the corpses of the Falmer began twitching, then moving – charred bodies, limbs twisted beyond repair, some crawling, some limping. They threw themselves at the automaton, waves of flesh swarming the machine. It shook them off initially, lashing out with its tail and claws.

But they kept coming, dozens, almost hundreds of undead that would rise up again and again, clawing, screeching. A flash of heat vision pulsed and she saw the cold of their bodies mingle with the dragon's hot carcass. Their skin bubbled upon contact. She barely registered the smell of carbonized meat and burning oil.

Inside her head, the Voice laughed, cruelly, and whispered to her many truths she didn't want to hear.

 _you're not going to any heaven, sweetheart_

She pushed it out of her mind – the knowledge that she had done something horrible. Despite how her skin crawled, despite how the sounds of crunched bone and nails against metal would haunt her in the nights to come.

She started moving. A walk at first, and then a run, past bits of limbs and fragments of bone, past smoke and fire, her goal the only thing in my mind. She approached the dragon from the back, where its tail danced, deadly sharp metal. The first time it came close, she ducked. The second time, she caught it by the tip, digging her feet on the ground, tensing her jaw.

For a moment, like a held breath, she struggled against the pistons, pain registering on her hands, and now the smell of burnt flesh was also her own. Then the metal cracked under her fingers, crumpling like paper. She tripped back when the bit she had been holding detached from the main carcass, then dropped the still sizzling chunk of metal she had removed on the ground.

 _be the animal be the creature be the thing of nightmares –_

She saw things then – paths and possibilities that appeared even as her sense of self dissipated and she turned into a machine of movement, rage and instinct. Things seemed to move in slow motion. She briefly registered Embla's expression – was that horror, fear? – but there was no feeling attached to it, no guilt, no regret, no anything.

The automaton, now aware of her location, turned towards her, shaking off reanimated bodies. It lifted its neck and pulled in air. Serana ran again, this time towards it, chanting a spell of frost she could not sign because she could no longer move her fingers. The dragon opened its mouth and spewed fire.

Serana released the spell not towards it, but aiming at the floor, forming a line of ice that went straight under it. She let her body fall, ducking the flames and sliding on ice, whooshing right under the dragon's body and emerging on its back. She hopped to her feet, leapt over its hind leg and slammed her palm on the bolt Embla had lodged on its side, pushing it into the metal so hard the tip emerged on the other side.

The dragon roared. Serana slammed her other hand on the hole left by the bolt and released a spell of thunder.

There were sparks and flashes. The beast's pistons abruptly froze. She backed away, but in one last movement of spite, the dragon managed to lodge its wing behind her, making her trip and fall as its weight descended upon her.

She heard rather than saw Embla's bowstring tense and release, heard the singe feeble arrow zip through the air, but then her eyes flashed a pulse of heat vision and she thought she saw the ghost of a shape around it –

The arrow hit the brass giant with a _tink._

And then it was thrown away, sent flying by a massive invisible force, dragging earth under it until its back collided against fallen stone. It gave one final creak of protest before collapsing entirely, steam hissing off the gaps and holes in the carcass.

Serana's heart was hammering so hard it hurt.

 _broken things,_ the Voice mocked, _monstruous things, terrifying things_ – Her muscles gave in and she fell on her back, covering her ears, hands shaking – _you're better off alone._

The corners of her vision darkened.

When she came to, Embla was holding her, dragging her away from the fires. "I'm okay," she tried to say, but wasn't sure what came out.

"I got you," Embla coughed. "Don't worry, I –" another fit of coughing, "– I can heal you."

She still forced herself to stand and walk the final steps to the tower of Mzark, where she laid her back against the door and gasped. Serana felt Embla's hands on her cheeks, then moving down to unbutton her cloak and coat to give her room to breathe. She closed her eyes.

A warm energy seeped into her, fixing the skin on her hands, soothing the aches in her muscles and filling in the cracks on her soul. When she opened her eyes again, she found Embla's cheek resting against her chest, her eyes closed and her hair covered by ashes.

 _better off alone you're a swirling void of hatred and demons_

"Em," she mumbled, tentatively shaking her.

"You didn't believe me," Embla muttered, looking up at her. "About my arrows. That was a mammoth arrow. It knocks really hard."

"I – yes. It does." She was suddenly hit by the urge to laugh, out of panic or despair or relief, she wasn't sure. "I'm sorry. About the Falmer. I know – I know this isn't how you wanted it to happen. I know you wanted to spare them. I didn't mean to – to –"

"I know," she interrupted. "Under the circumstances, we both did all we could. You – you got hurt. More than anything else, I didn't want that."

And then she wanted to cry, because her caring was overwhelming. She didn't have words for it, just feelings too big to express and maybe tears. Definitely tears. She closed her eyes again to prevent them from coming.

 _you don't deserve it,_ the Voice whispered, and for once she agreed. _you're a broken thing._

"I know what you're thinking," Embla said, without moving from her spot. "Stop thinking it. You did what you had to do. You're…. not the monster you think you are. Not by a long shot."

"I'm out of control," she whispered, digging her fingers on warm skin and burying her nose on hair that smelled of smoke. "I keep hurting you. I keep slipping up and hurting you and every time it cuts a little bit deeper –"

"Shh." Embla looked up again, moved and pressed their lips together for a split second. "Don't be a fool."

" – no. No, listen, you're right." She sat up straight. "It's true. This does more harm than good. And after we're done with this, I… I promise you. Okay? I'm done with this. I'm getting rid of it, I want to be able to live with myself. To love myself. And this is a constant reminder of – of the things I'm not and the things I don't want to be. So once we deal with… with my father, then I'm done with it. I'll find a way."

"If that's what you truly want," Embla squeezed her hand. "If you think that's the right choice. Then I'll support you."

"Thank you," she muttered, then pushed herself to her feet and helped Embla up without letting go of her hand. "Now let's get that thrice-blasted dynamo core before we get swarmed by Falmer again."

 _broken thing,_ the Voices repeated over and over, _you're nothing without us._

And then they laughed.


End file.
